Til They're Before Your Eyes
by rosa lunae
Summary: Aslan sets into motion the only way to allow two people the chance they never had; the only way to get a lost daughter home. In the Shadow-Lands, they called this sort of thing "God sending an angel." To help save Susan, Aslan would send Caspian. UPDATED
1. Prologue

_Firstly, it is with great caution and humility that I even entertain the notion of writing a _Chronicles of Narnia_ story at all; these books are precious to me, and I wouldn't change a thing. But ever since I first read them as a child, Susan was my favorite character—she was a combination of who I knew I was and who I wanted to become. So to read about her exclusion from Aslan's Country at the end of _The Last Battle _was heart-breaking. But I firmly believe that this means that Susan survived the train crash, and is left alive, but the rest of her family is killed. But Aslan's country, as Heaven, has no sadness or tears, so her absence wasn't felt at the end of the book. _

_However, when I saw the movies, I found my heart breaking for Susan once again, with her "what could have been" with Caspian, my desire to reconcile the books with the movies became so much stronger. So, here follows my attempt to do several things-- finish Susan's story post-_The Last Battle _and reconcile her near-relationship with Caspian with the rest of the cannon. So the following will follow the books and the current movie-verse, and begins just after _The Last Battle_ ends. _

_This is my first foray into the Narnia fanfiction, and my first long, multi-chapter endeavor in a while. I ask for patience, and promise that it will finished. Please let me know what you think; all feedback is treasured._

_I own nothing; C. S. Lewis is a genius here and Disney did some cool things too. I'm just borrowing._

_I hope you enjoy. -rosa_

**Till They're Before Your Eyes**

Prologue

Things were foggy; she could have been floating on ocean swells. She felt pain, but couldn't pin it down. She clawed her way up to the surface. The first awareness was of the dark. She blinked, again and again to find no change. Ever logical, she fought the crushing fear, blocking it as she froze, listening. Feeling. A soft wheezing sound, a steady beeping. A less than comfortable bed; a needle in her arm, the smell of flowers. Hospital.

She blinked again. Nothing. Logic whirred and worked until somehow, the realization put itself into words despite the mental haze nearly smothering her.

_I can't see._

The sheer terror that seized her with that realization came with the memory. In her mind, she could see the human bodies, tossed about the train like snow in a snow globe, she could hear the screams and the screeching, and the deafening crash, and she could feel her older brother's arms around her like iron. Though her throat burned even with breath, she heard herself screaming his name, over and over, until four others joined it, littered with the phrase, "I can't see," and she didn't stop thrashing, not for the frantic voices, not for the soothing ones, not for the pity or urgency, not until she felt a stab prick her leg, and she fell backwards into darkness, all voices fading into silence.

XXX

"_**The term is over; the holiday has begun. The dream has ended; this is the morning."**_

_The beauty of Aslan's country could not be contained within a handful of paltry words; descriptions of rolling green hills or clear skies glowing with a sunlight that never burned or sparkling water that never froze or of birds ever singing fall short. There were no tears, no emptiness, no longings. There was no marriage, only the delight of being family. There are stories that sentences cannot capture, songs that poetry can only stumble around. There is no loss, no sense of time, only joy._

"_**N**__**ow at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before."**_

_Memories of the past were not lost, but there was no pain in remembrance, no sense of loss. Only joy was in stories, all celebrated. Even stories of an absent queen did not bring pain, for there was unwavering confidence in Aslan, a hope that never faltered. Her stories were told often around lighted tables, and no one grew tired of smiling._

_As in Narnia, Aslan was not always physically present, but unlike Narnia, and especially unlike the Shadow-Lands, faith in him was unbreakable, for Aslan was fact and their place in Aslan's country and their joy was proof no longer needed. Joy, joy, joy abounded. _

_Aslan himself took near complete joy in watching the Friends of Narnia live so happily in His country. But unlike his children, He could still see into the Shadow-Lands, into the world from which He'd rescued them. Unlike Peter, Edmund, Lucy, and their parents, Aslan had watched the train accident take place, and he could recall every sound, every scream, every crack of bone. Aslan, as He existed in the Shadow-Lands, had not caused the train to malfunction, but he had not interceded either. And though it gave Him delight to see three of his dearest children finally at peace-- to see Peter's burden lifted, Edmund's redemption complete, Lucy's faith rewarded—He was not spared from knowing her struggle, her broken heart, her abject fear, for He knows all._

_When Susan had first entered Narnia, her logical mind reeling, Aslan had seen in her the greatest shock. As slightly older, she did not quite have the imagination of Lucy or the curiosity of Edmund, and being humble as she was, did not have the longing for hero's glory as Peter. But Susan overcame her uncertainty in those days, and when she had ascended her throne, she became the most level-headed and gracious of the four monarchs, always looking for peace before war, and always broken-hearted by the battles fought for her hand in marriage. In the years of Narnia's Golden Age, Susan had always served as sovereign Queen when Peter and Edmund rode to war, and Lucy rode off for negotiation or her own exploration, and being left behind was always torture for Susan, but she knew that the people took comfort in her presence in turbulent times. Having these memories of anxious loneliness, it was no surprise to Aslan that when Susan returned to Narnia the second time, she was anxious to prove herself in battle and make up for the years she viewed as idle. _

_And Aslan, omniscient as He was, was not surprised to find that—since she turned down countless suitors as Queen during the Golden Age—Susan was, perhaps subconsciously, eager to find love in her second visit to Narnia. Her last visit had lasted for a long breadth of years; how was she to know to guard her heart, that this visit would be but a month of Narnia time? Aslan had not told her, and Prince Caspian had been struck by the beauty of the gentle Queen of legend, just as so many other suitors had been, 1300 years before. _

_But Aslan knew what no one else knew, what Susan and Caspian had hoped for years only to let go of. Aslan knew that their connection those long years ago had not been the same; Caspian had not just been another young man in awe of Susan's physical beauty. No, in that month of battle, of brushes with death, of arguments and danger, of laughter, Caspian had seen past her beauty, had seen in Susan what her brothers saw, what no other suitor had ever seen—her strength, her compassion, her righteous fervor, her gracious spirit. _

_And Susan was no different. She was not simply a sixteen year old girl with a crush in that month. No, she had been a woman of almost thirty once, knowing full well of desire, of longing, knowing why she turned down each and every suitor. Though back in the body of a teenage girl, the Narnian air aged her spirit, and she saw in Caspian what she'd never seen in any suitor; his eyes on hers, not on her body; his attention on her words, not her appearance; his desire to keep her safe, not to have as a trophy. She knew he saw her as she truly was._

_And Aslan was not without sadness for having to separate the two after Caspian's coronation. But it had to happen so that all would be set in motion. Caspian would live on, his sense of deep loss muted by years, and he would eventually make a pleasant marriage to Ramandu's daughter, and Rilian would be born. But even after his wife's death, and up to his own, Caspian would think of Susan, wonder what could have been. And now, Caspian was here, in Aslan's own Country, fellowshipping happily with his spirit-brother, Peter, with the other friends of Narnia, with his son. Ramandu's daughter joined her father in the stunning night sky of Aslan's Country, and Aslan watched Caspian take pleasure in gazing up at the firmament in unbreakable peace. Here in Aslan's Country, Caspian was finally free of the ever-present sense that he had missed out on something, and his memories of Susan brought him only joy._

_For Susan, the separation proved much shorter but far more difficult. But Aslan knew it had to happen, to set it all in motion. Susan came back from her final trip to Narnia, utterly heart-broken. Though only a teenager, she had once been a grown woman, and she knew that the one man not related to her she had ever met that had seen past her beauty and loved her still was gone forever. With this knowledge, Susan came to believe that the only thing she had was her beauty; she spent the years before the accident hiding behind, forcing her memories of Narnia into the context of a game, of a dream, so it would hurt less. The less she thought of Narnia, the less she thought of _him_, and what she had lost. Her siblings did not understand the depth of her pain; they were confused by the sudden change, later exasperated. Peter's one mistake had not been seeing his sister's new behavior as defense mechanism against the hurt; he thought she had lost faith, become selfish. But truly, Susan had lost in faith—the one thing she ever wanted in all her years on Earth and in Narnia, a man to see past her face and into her heart—had been taken away by Aslan's own decree, and she was confused, hurt, and later angry. _

_It hurt Aslan to watch this; he loved Susan. But it must happen this way. Because Susan forced herself into becoming obsessed with her superficial beauty, she had been in the lavatory of the train when it derailed, examining her reflection. The contained space saved her from being thrown about as violently as the others, and she clutched to the sink as the train lost control. Peter, his oldest instinct being to protect his first sibling, had run back to her, throwing the door open and locking his arms around her in that last moment as she clung to the sink and he to her. But when the train flipped over, he lost his grip and was thrown from the small room, and crushed, his death quick. Now, in Aslan's Country, he would not remember the last, overwhelming sense of failure of having let Susan slip through his hands for the final time. _

_When the train flipped, Susan hit her head violently on the sink and knew no more. Her last sight would have been a glimpse of Peter falling. She would wake up in the hospital, the lone survivor of the crash, her entire family claimed. She would wake up permanently blind, traumatized, and alone._

_This too, was necessary. Without her sight, Susan lost the ability to see her reflection. A year would pass for her; she would withdraw completely into herself, too old for foster care, no close living relatives. She would be taken in by a kind elderly widow who had attended church with the Pevensies their entire lives, and Mrs. Ainran, or Miss Dawn as Susan called her, along with Susan's guide-dog, Spark, would be Susan's only friends and the only two stumbling blocks on her path to complete despair._

_Now, it was time. Aslan would set into motion the final invasion of the Shadow-Lands; He would send the last Narnian to cross the boundary for the noble purpose of rescuing the lost Queen of Narnia. So many years of battle, of hurt, of preparation, redemption and rescue leading up to this moment, this solution. The only way to allow two people the chance they never had; the only way to get a lost daughter home._

_In the Shadow-Lands, they called this sort of thing "God sending an angel." _

_Aslan would send Caspian._

____________________________  
_


	2. A Feeling

**Til They're Before Your Eyes**

_Thanks to everyone who offered feedback on the beginning. :-) Also, FYI, the title of the story is taken from the song played during the final scene of _Prince Caspian; _I owe credit for it and the lyrics excerpted throughout the story and chapter titles to Regina Spektor. This song is breathtaking, really. _

_Also, just keep in mind, not every question will be answered right away. :-)_

_rosa_

Chapter 1: It Started Out as a Feeling

**Monday**

Her fingers coiled around the handle of the harness, sending streaks of white through her hands; every stranger that bumped her sent her heart racing, every sound always seemed abnormally loud. But then, her own world was abnormally dark.

The streets smelled of yesterday's rain, sweat and car exhaust; she wondered why she'd never noticed before. She couldn't help but notice now. She wondered if her guide dog found the smell of London as unpleasant as she.

Despite being with Spark for almost a year, she found herself shamefully terrified each time she left the haven of Miss Dawn's house. The German Shepard that led her through crowds and across busy London streets had never failed her. If she admitted it, he'd probably saved her life once. But for some reason, she liked to think she could have gotten away, that she hadn't been depending on the animal, on Spark. She wondered what he would say about if she could ask him; then she frowned at the ridiculousness of that.

As autos became increasingly more common, the streets became even more hazardous; one auto had been going too fast to stop at the crossing in time, but Susan's ears were so overwhelmed with sounds, that she had trouble discerning where to go to avoid the danger, the screeching tires just another sound in a black expanse. But her faithful German Shepherd had lunged forward, yanking her out of the way. She knew never to let go of his harness, and doing so saved her life. Trusting the animal came so much easier than trusting people; even Miss Dawn had fought her way into Susan's life.

The auto incident was seven months ago; Susan had fled back to Miss Dawn's house, terribly shaken, but the elderly woman sent her out to the market the next week, just as always. "Get back on that horse, Susie," she'd said. "Best time to do anything is after you've been kicked in the teeth."

No one had called her Susie since she was very young.

Today, a rare dry day at the tail end of March, Susan was back on the streets of outer London, gripping Spark's harness and trying to contain the fear that followed her. It was her weekly task to go to the market for groceries; Miss Dawn was not strong enough to make the trip anymore. After nearly a year, she knew the layout very well, and she was a recognized figure. Faceless voices called as she passed, "Miss Pevensie, are you out of potatoes?" or something of the like. She had a basket and a pouch of money; she knew the value of each coin by its size and texture; she knew where she was on the rectangular path of the market by the smells; she knew voices.

She was out of potatoes, in fact. She hadn't had much of an inheritance; the military stepped in to settle funeral arrangements, and her father's former commanding officer had sold the house so Susan could have that money to live on. She had been planning to study somewhere, maybe even America, after she'd been there. Now, it was the afterthought of a dream she might have had. She was dependent upon on Miss Dawn's income as a seamstress, had no way of earning money for herself. She was almost twenty-three, now; she thought she'd... _well,_ she sniffed, hardening herself against such thoughts,_ it does no good to imagine._

She traced her fingers along each the course edge of each table, counting the corners. She collected potatoes, fruit, bread, eggs—essentials. She responded to the voice associated with each smell, but knew no names. Only voices.

Spark guided her through the crowd, led her around obstructions she couldn't see. Even the children she imagined clinging to their mother's skirts and pointing knew better than to pet him; he was at work, the mothers had whispered in the beginning, before everyone knew her.

She missed Lucy.

One step she took brought her away from the food scents, into a damp breeze, meaning she was in the open streets again and out of the market square. "Home, Spark," she said, her sack of groceries draped over her other arm. She had a picture in her mind—they were at the corner, where they would cross the street, walk a block, turn right and walk another three and Miss Dawn lived in the third flat. She could sense the mass of people waiting for the light, even if they did their best not to touch her. She didn't want them to touch her, but it still hurt.

"Look out!"

Spark barked a warning, stopping suddenly and turning, trying to yank her back the way they came before the hiss of bicycle tires on slick sidewalk registered in her ears. Terror seized her, in the instant with Spark pulling and the hiss, until a body forced her backwards in the way her dog was leading. She stumbled, slipped backwards and let go of Spark's harness, trying to break her fall, but large hands locked around her upper arms, steadying her. She felt a mist of spray as the bicycle passed them, hearing a young boy shouting a plaintive apology as he went.

"Spark!" Susan was disoriented, humiliated, and suddenly vulnerable, and the combination of feelings, though fairly familiar, added up to terror. The hands on her arms immediately let go. She felt her dog brushing her leg, whining. One of the hands pressed the harness handle back into her fingers, and her hand coiled around it like an infant's around a finger.

"Are you hurt, ma'am?"

Susan froze, noting the man's accent. A foreigner in this post World War II London? She instinctively recoiled. "No," she managed. She backed away from the voice, and Spark moved in front of her. "I'm fine."

"You dropped a few of your potatoes, miss. May I put them back for you?"

Susan could almost feel the eyes of every stranger on her. "Please," she managed, feeling her throat close. He did so carefully, not touching her until he secured the bag's strap over her shoulder.

"That's the last one, ma'am. Do you need—,"

"I'm fine," she said, cutting him off. "I need to get back."

"Do you always come here alone?" The delicate Spanish lilt made the question less threatening, but not enough for Susan not to back away, jumping when she backed into a streetlight.

"I prefer to be alone," she murmured. It had been a fib then; it was a raging falsehood now. "Home, Spark," she said, forcing strength into her voice. The German Shepherd gently turned her about ninety degrees, leading her back to the street corner. She felt for the curb with the tip of her toes, trying to force away the memory of Peter's last grip on her.

"Won't you allow me to escort you?"

Spark led her into the street when the last auto had stopped. The man was following. "I'm perfectly capable on my own," she said, wanting to get away from the voice.

"As you wish. Good day, ma'am."

The surprise nearly stopped her in the middle of the street, but she forced herself to keep walking. She listened, as she walked. His footsteps clicked slightly; she deduced he was wearing boots. They faded as the distance between them spread.

He had given her control, respected her ability, and walked away. Even in these modern days, it was nearly inconceivable. Bemusement slowly outranked the anxiety; her heartbeat slowed to normal as Spark led her back home. She counted her steps, enjoying the consistency of the numbers; thirty-eight steps to the next block, right turn, fourteen to cross the street, eighty-four steps to reach the house. She let her hand trace the letters on the front door—Ainran. Not Pevensie.

She pulled a key out of her skirt pocket, balancing Spark's harness on her wrist as she counted the serrations on the edge. Certain it was the right key, felt for the key hole and opened the door. She set the groceries on the table just by the door, and shut the door behind her. She felt her way down the wall as she knelt, stroking Spark as she took of his harness to let him off-duty. When the harness was hung on the hook by the door, he licked her ankles before bounding off into the house.

Susan knew this house; her fingers traced the wall, running across the top of the edging. "Miss Dawn?"

"Kitchen, Susie!"

Even after a year, Susan didn't quite know who "Susie" was. An kin-less orphan? A grown woman made a child again by disability, by incomparable loss? Well, it was for the best; she wasn't Susan anymore, never could be.

The elderly woman was chatting cheerfully before Susan even got to the kitchen; this at least brought the ghost of a smile to her mouth. They needed each other.

She felt her way around the walls, conscious of the rearranging Dawn had done to accommodate her. The walls were empty on her arm's level, the corners were kept clear. Susan closed her eyes against a wave of nostalgia when she caught a whiff of homemade bread, made with the last egg. Her mother used to bake bread for them while her father had been at war. It had been Edmund's favorite.

Susan frowned; she seemed to remember Edmund having a sweet tooth as a child, but he hadn't been fond of sweets after their first visit to Professor Kirke's; she couldn't recall why.

XXX

_He had been walking beneath the stars again; he liked to find a place among the trees to sit and catch sight of his wife's light through the canopy of leaves. It afforded him comfort, to know she was where she'd always longed to be. She was beautiful, as she always had been._

_He had leaned against the tree trunk, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of the wood. _

_His mind had drifted backwards, nearly sixty years into the past he'd had on earth, back to the young woman who'd had a semi-permanent role in the plays of his dreams. There was no worry, no sadness, no longing associated with her face in his mind's eye—these feelings did not exist in Aslan's Country. Instead, imagining her face had filled him with a hope that was nearly overpowering. _

"_**Son of Adam."**_

_He had jumped in surprise; the Great Cat made no sound moving through the foliage. Surprise was an emotion that remained in Aslan's Country; often, they were surprised by the joy they'd finally found._

_He had stood, then, bowing low. "Aslan," he said, daring to let his fingers entwine through the coarse, imposing mane._

"_**Come. Walk with me."**_

_Caspian had done so, loosely gripping a handful of fur as they walked. Aslan led him through the woods, up a steep incline that led to a jutting outcrop of rock over a sparkling sea, reflecting the soft light of the moon, the reflected image swaying in a soft waltz as waves swelled gently under the surface. Aslan stretched his muscular limbs, then lied down on the rock. Caspian sat next to him. _

"_**Who were you thinking of, King Caspian?"**_

_Caspian had been lost in the beauty of this place, and it took him a moment to answer. He had dared a glance, seeing the same terrible compassion in Aslan's amber eyes. "Queen Susan," he had answered. There was no shame in it, no fear of judgment. Many in Aslan's Country thought of her. _

"_**I think of her often as well, dear one."** _

_Caspian had wondered at the strange tone in Aslan's voice; as Caspian had found ultimate peace, he no longer recognized the sound of sadness. _

"_I hope she will join us here, soon," he had said in reply. An egret landed in the water with the soft whisper of a splash, sending ripples of distortion across the moon's image, making the stars dance. He found there was something else he wanted to say, but he couldn't quite say it._

_The two of them sat in peace for some time before Aslan had risen again. Caspian stood as well, instinctively. _

"_**Will you follow me, Son of Adam?" **_

"_Always, Aslan," he had answered. _

"_**Come then."**_

_They had walked away from the cliff, down the embankment, down to the sandy edge of the sea. Caspian loved the feel of it beneath his feet. _

"_**Will you follow me, Caspian?"**_

_Caspian met the eyes of the Great Lion, knowing the question was different now. "Always, Aslan," he answered, again._

_The Lion walked into the sea, not made uneasy by the water. Caspian followed, keeping side by side with Him. It was very suddenly that he had felt himself dropping, falling and falling until there was no direction at all, then the surface was above him again, and he broke it, feeling ground beneath his feet again, water rushing over his eyes. He had known Aslan was still beside him._

_Caspian rubbed his eyes, opening to find a thick wood with strange trees, creating a canopy so thick there was no sky visible above them. The ground was littered with shallow, gleaming puddles. Caspian felt suddenly overwhelmed; he felt sleepy, but unfamiliar feelings bombarded him. He felt loss, the immense loss of the joy, and he knew that he was no longer in Aslan's Country. He felt tired, at a strange peace; he remembered he had died._

_The oppressive languidness of the place clashed in his mind with every negative memory and emotion struggling for precedence. "Aslan," he gasped, falling to his knees, fighting the urge to sleep and the urge to weep. _

"_**Be still, Son of Adam,"** came the deep voice, and Caspian recognized the unfamiliar emotion in the Great Lion as sadness, a great, unspeakable suffering. He had realized that he had wanted to say that he missed her, but couldn't because there was no lack of contentment in Aslan's Country. He realized that if Peter and Edmund and Lucy and their parents were all there, then Susan had survived the accident, left utterly alone in the world. He remembered now, remembered how he had spent so many agonized nights before he had died wondering where she was, if she thought of him, if she was okay, if what they had shared truly meant nothing in the great scope of time. He had covered his face as his own life and loss consumed him and his heart broke for Susan, the lost Queen. _

"_What is this place?" he had whispered. "Why have you brought me here, Aslan?" _

_The Great Lion had dropped to the ground next to Caspian, who had thrown his arms around the Lion before he could stop himself. He didn't seem to mind, and his deep voice rumbled softly against Caspian's ear._

"_**You said you would follow, my dear son," **He said simply, remaining silent for a moment as Caspian tried to regain his composure. When his shudders had stopped, Caspian had looked up, and Aslan continued._

"_**This place is sometimes called The Wood Between the Worlds. Each of these pools is an opening to another world; Lord Digory and Lady Polly were here in the very beginning; they stumbled upon the White Witch's world here, then Narnia."**_

_His head had snapped up then. He remembered a sixty-year old kiss, remembered how he swallowed his forbidden desire until his memory had faded into dreams. "There is a way to their world here?" he had asked, his eager (if dazed) tone sealing his fate. _

"_**Come."** Aslan rose, led him through the maze of odd trees and shimmering pools of water; the Great Lion seemed unaffected by the strange heaviness of the Wood, but the bittersweet compassion remained. They stopped at one pool. **"Watch."**_

_Before Caspian's eyes, the pool of water seemed to turn to glass, reflecting images. He watched as pictures faded in and out. The four Pevensies, stumbling into Narnia at Lantern Waste; the Kings and Queens of Narnia's Golden Age; Queen Susan and King Edmund's experience with Rabadash, other wars fought in her name. Peter, and then Caspian saw himself, crossing blades with the High King until Lucy's cry froze them both; the battle against Miraz, Susan standing calm and alone as mounted Telmarine's rushed her, himself and Peter freezing with an equal panic as Susan dangled from Aslan's How; the farewell before the tree, the last time he saw her._

_Then the color faded from the images, and Caspian saw a different, vain Susan, first admiring her appearance then crying into her pillow at night. He saw the train crash, saw Susan's mouth open in silent scream as Peter was hurled away from her, saw her standing utterly alone before before five coffins, dark glasses on her eyes, feeling for Lucy's with her hands, weeping with her arms around the headstone, trying to feeling her way around a house and falling, sitting alone staring blankly ahead._

_And Caspian had understood. He had understood in that moment why everything had happened that way, why he had married Ramandu's daughter, why Susan had kissed him and why she had changed after leaving Narnia the last time, why Aslan had brought him here now._

"_**Susan has made herself forget, Son of Adam. And there is no one left in the Shadow-Lands to help her remember." **_

_King Caspian, Tenth of that Name, the Navigator, the Telmarine who had saved Narnia, had lived a long life, with plenty struggle and some degree of duty over pleasure, but he had been happy. He had made it to Aslan's Country after seeing the End of the World and coming back again. He had lived._

_Gentle Queen Susan of the Horn, one of the four prophesied to save Narnia and lead it to the Golden Age, however, was not happy. She was broken and alone, teetering on the edge of utter despair. She deserved so much more._

"_Am I really the best suited?" he had asked, thinking of Peter, how Peter's last act in life had been to try and protect Susan. Caspian had always felt he'd never quite made it up to the High King's level. _

_Aslan shook his mighty head, mane moving in a breeze Caspian couldn't feel. **"Things never happen the same way twice," **He had said, as if Caspian had spoken aloud. This statement, however, filled Caspian with hope. _

"_**This task can be yours and yours alone," **said the Lion. Caspian had wondered if he saw a smile there, in His eyes. **"I will be with you in that world, by another name. Caspian. Will you go?"**_

_Caspian had closed his eyes, remembering Aslan's Country, where he laughed with his son and friends for countless days, where thinking of Susan did not break his heart as it did now, where he was free and at rest. But he looked at the pool of shimmering water at his feet, saw an image of Susan curled in a ball on a couch, shuddering while a dog sniffed her hair, helpless to intercede._

"_I will go."_

_**_____________________________________**_


	3. A Hope

**'Til They're Before Your Eyes**

_I sincerely appreciate the feedback thus far. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy. :-) _

_-rosa_

Chapter 2: Which then Grew into a Hope

**Wednesday**

More than any other benefit afforded by sight, Susan missed reading. She had spent hours tucked away in her corner of the room shared with Lucy, escaping for a while the demands of being the eldest girl, the oppressive reality of a nation at war. She'd grown up in a turbulent time, her own father fighting Nazi's to protect the home front; war seemed familiar, and she'd longed to escape it, just as she yearned to be lost in a land of fantasy now, in her long, dark days.

There were moments each morning when she opened her eyes to darkness when she wondered if she was still asleep, when she was shocked a little once again. It was the worst time of day; she was never sure it was morning, never woken by the light of the sun on her eyelids. She opened her eyes to darkness, wishing she could fall back to her dreams because her mind's eye was not blind. She dreamed of Lucy dancing among flowers, of Edmund's sudden grin when he saw the opening on the chessboard, of Peter. She saw their faces, saw light and leaves around them, and each morning, they faded away.

This morning was no different. She got out of bed, stretching, knowing it was morning by the smell of breakfast. She felt her way along the wall to her bureau; each drawer held a specific garment and was arranged left to right by color so she would match. She dressed herself, carefully running her hands down her chest to be sure each button of her shirt was buttoned, that her skirt was straight. And she brushed her her hair then tied it into two braids; her hands knew the task by heart.

"Susie! Aren't you awake, dear?"

Susan smiled wanly. At least she wasn't utterly alone in the world. She had been for a while.

------------------------------

_When she opened her eyes again, terrified that the darkness remained and trembling as the images from the train receded from her awareness, she opened her mouth to scream, but a small, rough hand seized her own. She shrieked, jerking away. "Who's there?!" she asked, forcing it through the sobs as the memories crushed her again, just as they did each time she'd woken up alone in the hospital._

"_Susie, dear..." _

_The voice was soft, elderly, full of emotion. Slightly familiar. She was distracted from her hysteria for a moment, trying to place it. _

"_It's Dawn Ainran, honey. From church. Lie still for a moment."_

"_They're all gone, aren't they."_

"_You remember the crash, Susie? You hit your head so hard."_

_She remembered locking her arms around the sink as Peter had locked his around her, remembered screaming as the train flipped, remembered seeing Peter fall backward into the dark twisted metal that was the car. She remembered the look in his eyes as he fell. Then she hit her head and the world went dark forever, her brother's death branded permanently into her mind's eye as her last sight in this world._

"_Yes," she whispered. "They say I'm the only one that survived."_

"_You have been spared for a reason, my love," the voice said, crying now. "God's wall was around you because there's more left for you in this world. Your life is a miracle."_

_Susan felt the fury rising. "He should have let me die," she'd said._

------------------------------

Susan's smile faded. She had somehow survived the first year without taking her own life, despite the persistence of the thought each day that she lived. She had a roof over her head, a friend, food. But she felt no purpose, no special reason she should be alive but for her own torture.

But as she always did, she swallowed these thoughts for later, to resume again when she retired for the night. She let her hand trace the door frame until she found the handle, pulling it open.

"Coming!"

She heard claws scratching the floor lightly as Spark approached. "Morning, Spark," she said, sinking to her knees, reaching. He put his head under her hands, and she felt for his ears, scratching until she heard the tell-tale tapping, smiling slightly as the dog moaned in pleasure. She stood again, and felt him at her ankle. She felt her way on the wall, listening to Dawn hum; the clank of glass on wood said she was setting the table. Susan instinctively felt for the chair before she sat, though Dawn was careful never to rearrange anything.

"Morning, Susie. Eggs and ham and oatmeal."

"Thanks, Miss Dawn." Susan could not cook over the stove; it was a bit risky. She helped where she could. "Did you sleep well?"

"As well as I ought, dear, the day is young. Eat up now."

Susan felt for the fork, then traced the outline of the plate, memorizing it, then began to eat, knowing the location of each food item on the plate after the first exploratory bites. Though her hand instinctively knew where her mouth was, the location of her plate and food had to be learned each time she sat down.

Susan heard the elderly woman's joints crack as she sat down at the table. "Miss Dawn?" She wondered where her request came from even as she asked it. "Tell me about Mr. Ainran."

"Milton?" Her voice sounded a little startled, but as she began to speak, it softened with fondness. "He was the handsomest soldier you ever saw, dear."

Susan thought of her father.

"I met him right before the Great War, you see. He was one of my brother's friends, and came by the house one day after school. The rest is history, really. He and Phillip were the best of friends, though Milton wanting to see me was a bit of a hangup," she laughed here, a soft chuckle. Susan noticed Dawn's fork hadn't clanked against her plate yet; she herself continued to eat. "But Phil got used to it well enough. Milton became a regular fixture at our dinner table—we didn't know for sure at the time, but Phil thought Milton's old man was a drunk, and that's why he never wanted to go home. I thought it was just because he wanted to sit with me a while." Another laugh here, before her voice dropped in pitch.

"Both of the boys signed up to fight the Great War. I was smitten long before that, but when they left, Milton said he'd marry me when he got back. Milton came back; my brother didn't. He never spoke of it, only told me Phil made him promise to look after me. We got word from the Army and a couple days later, I got a letter from Milton. He said he would live so I wouldn't hurt anymore than I already did, said he would be half a man if he died before he could keep his promise to me and now, to Phil. He got back the next year, and we got married that month. I'll remember that day forever because his sister thought she lost his ring! She was supposed to hold on to it for me, but that fool woman always had her head in the clouds.

"We never could have kids, but we had each other, Susie, for nigh 30 years before he caught pneumonia. He was the best man I knew next to my brother. He finally told me about Phil's death before he died—Phil died saving him, you see. He was trying to live up to my brother his whole life. We were happy, Susie. We were all each other had in the world some days. Oh, dear, but now my food is cold."

Susan fought the tears, the swell of longing deep in her chest.

"What about you, Susie? You're so lovely and smart, you must have had plenty beaus in school."

Susan bit her lip, hating the shame that swallowed her. She felt like she'd had many men after her years ago, but she hadn't; boys in school seemed so young. Not one had ever seen past her face. And she wouldn't be attracting many beaus now, she thought bitterly.

"I was never in love." She had a vague sense that that was almost a lie. "I might have been once," she said before she realized it. She scraped her spoon across her plate to be sure she'd finished off the oatmeal.

"Oh, don't worry, dear, you are still young. You need to spend more time with folk your own age, too, Susie. My nephew, George, is coming down for a visit on Saturday and he's only a few years your senior. I told him about you over the phone and he's dying to meet you. He can introduce you to some of his friends in the area; won't that be nice? You must get tired of an old woman's company."

Susan laughed, momentarily forgetting her suspicion. "Oh, hush, Miss Dawn, you know that's not true."

"Ah well, it will be good for you."

Her lips settled back into their customary line. "If it will make you happy, Miss Dawn," she said, feeling her way to the sink.

XXX

Susan had little to occupy her leisure time. She could do little to help around the house, had no marketable skills with her secondary school diploma, and knew not a soul other than Spark and Miss Dawn. She couldn't very well continue with any of her previous hobbies, and the house was very quiet. With the loss of her sight, she found herself utterly dependent and absorbed in sound; Miss Dawn was not well-off financially after being widowed, and her income as a seamstress was only so much, but there was an old piano in the dining room. Susan couldn't read music, but she had many hours and childhood lessons that her hands had never forgotten. In fact, she would spend most of her days there if Miss Dawn wasn't diligent about making her leave the house with Spark on errands.

When her right thumb found middle C, she could navigate the instrument fairly easily. She would sit for hours picking out chords and tunes, playing familiar melodies by ear and humming along. She might have been a fair singer, but she was never moved enough to sing along. Even the most plaintive notes of hymns did little to change her expression as she played. It was hard, adjusting to the emotional, artistic task, playing the piano, when she was use to cerebral activities like reading and jigsaw puzzles. She wondered if the change was significant. In her mind, she still tried to make the music mathematical, a pattern to be heard and mastered. Spark often sat behind the bench as she played; she heard him snore sometimes.

"Susie?"

Susan had no concept of time when she played, and she concentrated so hard that the voice startled her. She jumped, hearing Spark stagger to his feet.

"I'm so sorry, dear, I didn't mean to sneak up on you." Dawn knew very well that being surprised was Susan's greatest dislike.

Susan took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. "It's okay." It wasn't.

"Shannon McMillan just stopped by; she loved that last song you played."

Susan blinked, unsure how to interpret that. She pushed her dark glasses further up her nose.

"She had an urgent request. Her middle girl is playing Ophelia in their school play, and needs a costume. Could you go to the fabric store and pick up some material? I will give you a list so that Mr. Higgins can just get it all for you. I'll bake an apple pie for dinner in return."

Susan was oddly fond of apples; she couldn't recall why. Anyway, she was a familiar face at Higgins' Fabric; the route was familiar and Spark was itching to get out. "Of course."

"Thank you, dear, and I harnessed the pup for you. Better check to see that I did it right though."

She said that every time. But Susan swiveled off the piano stool, and reached down to feel the harness around Spark anyway, tugging to be sure it was secure and checking that it wasn't too tight, feeling each connection with her fingertips. "Seems fine," she said, rising. She took the harness with her right hand, letting her left trace the wall until she found the coat rack. She tugged her coat on. "I'll be back soon."

"Wait, dear, you'd better take the umbrella just in case."

Susan frowned. She hated going out in the rain. Not for normal reasons, but because carrying the umbrella left both her hands occupied, and she didn't like that at all. If she wouldn't be bringing back fabric, she would just as well wear a rain jacket and forgo the umbrella completely.

"Don't scowl so, Susie, it's not raining yet. Here, hook the umbrella over your arm, so your hand is free, and you can put the pieces in your bag here, over your shoulder. Little Bridget is tiny, it won't be much fabric at all. Here's the list."

She pressed it into Susan's free hand, and Susan slipped it into her skirt pocket.

"Now, you don't have to do this today if you don't want."

Susan smiled. "Nonsense. I need some exercise today as it is. Perhaps it won't rain. Bye now!" She pushed open the door, and pulled it shut behind her, letting Spark lead her to the street. She imagined the map in her head, recalled the patterns and numbers she had memorized. Mr. Higgins' shop was five blocks away—that was four crosswalks, two ninety degree turns, 368 steps. "Right, Spark," she said, letting him lead.

She heard few footsteps around her, more aware of the rush of autos going by. The air was sticky and heavy—it probably would rain. Then again, this was London—it usually did. At times like this, she was almost glad not to see the dreary sky and muddy streets, the few trees still bare from winter. Almost. She had found it disheartening, the lack of color in the cityscape; but then, it would still be better than darkness.

**Step, step, ease to the right, step, step. Stop. Wait. Turn. Left. Cross. Step.**

Soon enough, she was there. Before she was fully across the threshold, she heard her name. "Well, Miss Pevensie, what brings you here? Dawn sending you all over the city again?"

She heard the humor in Mr. Higgins' voice, turned towards it. "Just to you today, Mr. Higgins. She sent a list." She fished the list, limp from humidity, from her pocket, and hesitated before holding it out, unsure of where he was.

"Right here, hon." He touched her hand, taking the list from her. "Follow me; come sit while I gather these. Beth will bring your pup some water."

"Thank you." He stood on her left side, so she could put her left hand on his right shoulder. He led her through racks of cloth to a bench. When her shins felt it, she turned, and sat, feeling her way down with her hand.

"Just sit tight, Miss Pevensie, I'll get these cut for you right away."

Susan did so; Spark sat at her feet, alert. Mrs. Higgins, whom Susan recognized by her short, heavy steps and overwhelming perfume, wasn't near as friendly as her husband. She brought a bowl of water and little conversation, eventually excusing herself to help a customer. Susan was hardly affected; she knew many people had no idea what to say to her.

"_Sorry your entire family and even some of your extended family and close friends were killed in that freak train crash. Sorry you're the only one left, and you can't see. Would you like a cup of tea?"_

Susan stifled a bitter smile. She heard footsteps approaching, small and soft. The bench creaked as a small body crawled up next to her. She felt the harness move slightly as Spark turned to watch, but he wasn't alarmed.

"What's your dog's name?"

A little girl's voice, probably about five or six. "Spark. What's your name?"

"Lily. Why do you wear your sunglasses inside?"

Swallowing a sigh, she answered, "The glasses mean I can't see. Spark is my guide-dog."

"Could you always not see?"

"Not always," she said. She thought of Lucy, always curious.

"What happened?"

Susan clenched her eyes shut knowing the girl couldn't tell. She made her voice stay level. "I hit my head in an accident, Lily."

"What kind of—,"

"Lily? That's a pretty name. Just like the flower."

Susan turned in surprise towards the new voice; deep, with a delicate accent. Emotions stirred, lesser ones overshadowed by sudden fear.

"Oooh, pretty! For me?"

"Of course," said the voice. "Now run along and find your parents, little one."

Susan placed the voice as the man from the market two days ago; he'd kept her from meeting the sidewalk face-to-face and picked up her potatoes. She reasoned away the pounding of her heart as associating the voice with nearly being hit by the bicycle she couldn't see.

Lily's steps hurried away.

"May I sit down?"

Susan's instincts screamed wariness, but she nodded slowly, still fighting the memories the child had unwittingly awakened. "Certainly." He did so, and she felt him settle at the opposite end of the bench, giving her space. Spark was sitting against her legs, no doubt watching the stranger. After a moment, Susan gave into the manners drilled into her head since childhood.

"Thank you," she said, hoping he heard her over the business of the shop.

"Children ask difficult questions, ma'am. Think nothing of it."

"And for helping me on Monday at the market. I apologize if I was short with you."

"No harm done, miss. I am lucky to be at the right place at the right time."

Susan wondered if there was something significant about that remark.

"Though," he continued, "if I'm to continue to be in the right place, I wonder if I could get your name?"

Susan was surprised; everyone knew about her in Finchley, and in the greater areas of London, her name was still remembered even as time marched on. Though, his accent suggested he was not native.

"You are new around here, then?"

"I had only just arrived when we met in the market, ma'am." She wondered if she heard a smile in his voice.

"Susan," she said. "Susan Pevensie." She shifted Spark's harness to her left hand, and held out her right.

He took hold of her fingers, gently pressing them between his own. "Nicholas Spagian, at your service, Miss Pevensie."

She wondered if she imagined the trembling in his hand.

"Call me Susan," she said. No one left in this world does.

"Nick," he returned. "It's a pleasure." He let go of her hand, and she automatically switched Spark's harness back to her right hand.

"Oh," Nick said, "here is Mr. Higgins with your purchases."

Susan stood, rifling through her bag for the money.

"Here, now, Miss Pevensie! Can I put these pieces in your bag for you?"

"Sure," she said. She'd rather him not, but he was a kind man. And he pressed the folded fabric into her bag quickly and gently. She passed him some money. He sniffed, and handed some back.

"You take care now, Miss Pevensie, you hear? Let's just see...oh, bother, but it's coming down out there, now! Won't you sit a spell and wait for it to clear?"

Susan smiled, feeling Nicholas Spagian still at her side, wondering what he was waiting for. "Nonsense, I have an umbrella." She awkwardly adjusted the bag on her shoulder, then grabbed the umbrella dangling from her other arm. "I'll be fine."

"If I may?"

Susan froze; something about his voice, that phrase. She got a picture in her mind's eye of a place underground, of a battle, and her heart started to pound at her chest.

Nick continued. "Won't you allow me to walk with you and hold your umbrella?"

Susan bristled, breathing deep to calm her heart. "I am perfectly capable, Mr. Spagian."

"I have no doubt of it, Susan," he said patiently. "I am sure you are capable of this and more. I only wish to make it a little easier, if you'll allow me."

Susan's wariness buckled under the sincerity in his musical voice. "Thank you," she said. He gently took the umbrella from her; she noticed his hand was still trembling.

XXX

_There's something special about the name Nick Spagian. Kudos to the reader who sees it!_

_The walk home and more to come in a week or two when I update again. Until that time, I wish you all a Merry Christmas. Thanks for reading. :-)_

_rosa_


	4. A Quiet Thought

**'Till They're Before Your Eyes**

_Thank you all for your generous and helpful feedback thus far! I hope you continue to enjoy the story. And of course, you all quickly figured out the anagram—you are much more observant than I am! :-) _

_Happy New Year! _

_-rosa_

Chapter 3: A Quiet Thought

He had called her Susan.

Nicholas Spagian didn't have to put his hand under her elbow, as most men felt the need to do, in order for her to feel him at her side. And he didn't, did not touch her but for that brief, trembling exchange of the umbrella. He simply walked at her side, and she knew he was there.

He had called her Susan, even after she had stubbornly switched back to his last name and the distancing "Mr." And it seemed odd somehow that he called her Susan. Comfortable for her, forced for him. She shrugged, annoyed with the senseless preoccupation. She concentrated instead on counting her steps.

"I confess I do have an ulterior motive for accompanying you," he was saying. And this statement did not alarm her as it might have if he didn't have that maddeningly sincere voice. "I'm new to this part of London, as you know, so I don't know where anything is, and I don't know a soul."

Susan stopped abruptly, surprising Spark. She turned her head towards the musical voice. "You're asking _me_ to show you around?" she asked. From anyone else, the request would have seemed mocking.

She heard fabric rustling, as if he were fidgeting with his sleeve. "I didn't mean to suggest... that is... I'm not making...well, Susan, you seem to know your way around this town better than most of the people that can see. Why should you be any less qualified?"

She didn't answer immediately; instead, she began walking again, resuming the counting. She remembered how he let her go off on her own after nearly getting hit by a bicycle.

It seemed so absurd. Who was this man? She needed more than her gut feeling to determine if he was trustworthy. She needed facts; evidence.

Well, there was the market incident. There was the fact that he was holding her umbrella and walking beside her. There was the respect. But she needed more.

"What is your business in Finchley?" She avoided his request for the moment, listening to the rain pound insistently on her umbrella. She wondered if he was getting wet; her umbrella wasn't very large, and she barely felt any drops.

The smile in his voice told her he didn't mind. "I was a sailor with my Father for most of my life, but he's on another journey across the sea, and needed me to stay behind here to take care of some unfinished business. My house, if we're going in the direction I think we are, isn't but a few blocks west."

Susan pondered this explanation as she walked; it was vague, but sounded true enough. His accent supported his story as a sailor from another country—probably a merchant ship if there was unfinished business. She felt she could trust him.

She also felt that that feeling was irrational, but she felt it all the same. And the instinct was too strong to ignore.

"I suppose I could take you around sometime," she found herself saying, as if it weren't peculiar in the least. She turned the final corner; fifty-eight steps until she was in front of Dawn's house. Her mind caught up with her heart moments after she spoke, and she found herself thinking, _Where did that come from?! _

It was a question easily answered, and Miss Dawn had basically answered it for her this morning, though she hadn't admitted it to herself.

Susan was lonely. She had two friends in the entire world (and one was a dog), and she wanted another.

"I would be much obliged," he answered, just as quietly.

_Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three..._

"Those are lovely cuts," he said, speaking of the fabric stowed in her bag. "Very regal."

She felt her lips twitch. A smile?

"My aunt," it was easiest to call Dawn her aunt to strangers who didn't know how they came to be family, "is a seamstress. These are for a young girl's costume for her school play. She's playing Ophelia, from Shakespeare."

"A queen?" Nick wondered. He had never read any Shakespeare.

"She might have been," she answered, very softly. "She was in love with a prince. But she dies before she can be queen. Some say that a broken heart led her to take her own life." Susan wondered why her voice was suddenly shaking so badly.

_Fifty-five, fifty-six..._

They stopped, just short of where Susan knew the house's walkway to be. She felt Spark fidget under the harness, making futile effort to shake off some of the rain on his coat.

"It sounds like a sad story," came Nicholas Spagian's voice, as if he were barely able to speak at all.

"They call it tragedy with good reason. Prince Hamlet dies in the end as well, avenging his father's death and finding his heir just before his last breath." She listened to the rain pounding on the umbrella, and wondered again if he was getting soaked. "There are happier stories in the world."

"Perhaps when we meet again, we could share in some of those," he suggested, walking again. She led him up the walk to her front door. Now under the shelter of the awning, she heard him shut the umbrella, and his hands, shaking less this time, replaced it between her own fingers.

"I'll look forward to it," she said, smiling again. "Can you manage your way from here?"

"On my Father's ship, I was The Navigator," he said, and she heard a grin in his voice. "I'll be fine, and if I get lost, I'll be too ashamed to admit it to anyone."

She laughed.

"May I call on you here in the future?" he asked. The request sounded so formal, out of place in the modern year of 1951.

She liked it.

"You may," she said.

"Until then, Susan," he said, touching her shoulder in farewell. She didn't jump. She smiled, listening to his steps as he walked away. The door creaked loudly open.

"Back just in time, Susie, I just put the pie in the oven," came Miss Dawn's cheery voice. "Well, now, who is that poor chap, soaked to the bone, I should say!"

Susan's smile widened. There was all the evidence she needed.

XXX

As he walked slowly away, instinctively hunched against the chilly wind and rain, Nick battled with the urge to look back. He didn't need to seem so intent that she was frightened by his attention. But she wasn't frightened; he'd overcome her initial suspicion quickly enough that it surprised him.

He tried to curl further into his coat, arms locked around his chest as he walked. He liked to hope that there was something in her that recognized him, knew his voice, his hands. They hadn't touched all that much in the short month they'd known in Narnia; she touched his hand to aim his cross bow, he pulled her up onto his horse after she nearly gave her life to save her sister. But still, when he'd touched her shoulder, without warning, she had not been startled.

He, on the other hand, as their hands had touched in exchanging the umbrella, couldn't stop shaking. He had eighty years of memory and timeless days spent in Aslan's Country, and for that entire time, he'd thought of her. Touching her had happened only his dreams for so long.

How strange to say her name aloud. When she'd been before him in Narnia, he had always called her "Your Majesty," as her title and reputation had preceded her for thirteen hundred years. However, he'd called the High King "Peter" on numerous occasions. Perhaps it was jealousy of the title simmering after their arguments that led him to forgo the title; perhaps it was how he'd immediately felt bonded to the eldest Pevensie, despite their clashes on strategy, that let him use Peter's name. But most likely, it was the fact that Peter, the High King, had made mistakes, had lost his temper, had struggled in faith during that month. He had been human.

Susan, on the other hand, had seemed faultless. He saw her stand up to Peter, when he had not the courage to, saw her charge into battle alongside her brothers, saw her face death, saw her righteous fury and disappointment in both himself and Peter after the image of the White Witch had shattered. He'd not taken her off the pedestal he'd built in time to be comfortable with her first name; in that last moment, when her lips and hands trembled against him and she struggled against her tears, he'd seen she was human, and loved her still, but that moment came too late.

He was right, though. His house was but four blocks west of her own. As he opened the door and let himself in, he breathed a thanks to Aslan for that closeness. As he set about rekindling the fire in the hearth, he recalled how he came to be in this world after that step into the pool in the Wood between the World.

XXX

_After the words "I will go," left his lips, Caspian had seen a great light in Aslan's eyes, a wild smile on his terrific lion face. _

"_**Go therefore, King Caspian, and bring my daughter home. I will be with you. Always."**_

_And so he had felt no fear as he stepped forward, stepping into the pool where he'd seen her face. And it felt like sinking, and then rising and twisting, and then there was a hole above his head and he was going up and up and then through it, and there was the other world again, much like it had looked when he saw it with Eustace and Jill. _

_He was in a marketplace; a covered area with people milling about, not giving him a moment's notice. He glanced down at his clothes—they seemed to blend nicely with the world, but he disliked the scratchy feel. He felt young; strong. The sky was cloudy. _

"_**Quickly, Son of Adam!"**_

_Startled by the voice, Caspian looked up but everyone else kept walking. As his eyes scanned the crowd, he saw her. She was waiting at the corner, holding tight to a harness to a large dog. Dark glasses covered her eyes and her hair was in slightly mussed braids, and her full lips were set in a tight line. Despite Aslan's voice, he couldn't move. He'd lived sixty years and died since he'd last saw her, and here she was, only a few years older than she'd been then. As he gaped at her, completely frozen, he heard a shout._

"_Look out!" _

_He turned towards the voice—it was a boy on a some kind of two-wheeled carriage that he suddenly knew was a bicycle, and as Caspian's eyes went down the boy's path, he saw Susan there, startled by the shout and disoriented. She could have no clue where the threat was. And the same instincts that had led him to ride out after her and Lucy so many years ago were the same ones that propelled him into action. He raced ahead of the boy on the bike, eased Susan out of its path, and as she slipped, he grabbed her arms, holding her steady. _

"_Spark!" she cried, right hand opening and closing erratically. The dog, he realized, and quickly snagged the harness and put the handle in her hands, watching her fingers close around it. His mouth opened to ask Susan if she was okay, to tell her it was him, when he heard the voice once more._

"_**Patience, Caspian."**_

_And in that instant, it came to him, the nature of his task. He couldn't just blurt out that he was Caspian—Eustace would have told her he'd died. He had to make her remember him and remember Narnia. Slowly. _

"_Are you hurt, ma'am" he asked, and out of every question he had for her, this was one to which he already knew the answer._

XXX

_After that encounter, Caspian had forced himself to let her go on home without him, knowing he would have to earn her trust, and for someone like Susan, who had spent 15 years of her life in Narnia as a Queen, respect was key. So he'd followed his feet around the city, unconscious of time, until he happened upon a house with a door-knocker with the face of a lion. Drawn to it, he'd gone up the walk, turned the knob and pushed open the door to find a house fully furnished with a built fire and a portrait of a faun under a lamppost over the mantle._

_Caspian was drawn to the bookcase. He reached out to trace the spines of the books as he read a few titles._

The English Monarchy. World Atlas. Oxford English Dictionary. Celtic Mythology. The Advent of the Auto. The London Zoo: Photographs. Easy Recipes. The Holy Bible.

_His eyes widened as he saw the next one. The Golden Age. When he opened it, the title page read, The Golden Age of Narnia: A History. And underneath, he recognized his signature. Caspian X. But when he turned to walk away from the bookcase, the letters blurred, changing to The Golden Age of Greece and Rome: A History. Stunned, he scanned down to the signature. It was his handwriting, but the name had changed. Nicholas Spagian. _

_He said the name in his head a few times, absently wandering. As he turned, he saw a bottle on an end table next to a sofa. He picked up the bottle, pulse quickening as he recognized the shape within: it was a breath-taking miniature of the Dawn-Treader. As he continued his slightly aimless exploration of the house, he came upon a mirror. And when Caspian looked into it, he saw himself looking just as he had in Narnia at the age of twenty-six. His clothes were different, but it was him, just as he had looked so long ago, down to the hair. His throat closed; if Susan only had her sight, she would surely recognize him.  
_

_This world was strange, and this house was no Cair Paravel, and certainly held no candle to Aslan's Country, which seemed more and more a dream than a place he'd been, but he had a mission. And Aslan was here too; the book in his hand was evidence enough. As he walked back to the bookshelf, the title shifted again. Quickly, he thumbed through until he stumbled on a full-page portrait of the High King, years into his rule. _

"_I won't fail, Peter," he had said quietly. "Aslan. I promise." _

XXX

Nick, as he'd tried to convince himself to think of himself so he wouldn't accidentally introduce himself as Caspian, had the fire nicely roaring again. He double-checked the jar of bills and coins at his bedside, thanking Aslan that everything was prepared. He found himself eying the amazing cold box that he somehow knew was called a refrigerator. For help, he decided to snag the _Easy Recipes_ book. When he reached for it, the book directly beneath it on the next shelf caught his eye.

_Hamlet _by William Shakespeare.

_**Patience,**_ Aslan had said. Nick smiled, remembering that he now knew where Susan lived, and she might even be starting to trust him already. Well, there was little more to be done this day, he realized, and dinner could wait.

XXX

_Thanks for your patience everyone. Hope you enjoyed. :-) This one is short, but there is so much more to come. Stick with me, and thanks for reading!_

_rosa_


	5. A Quiet Word

**'Til They're Before Your Eyes**

_Thank you for your feedback so far. I love to read all your kind and helpful reviews. I wish that I could update more often, but life gets in the way sometimes. But even if I start to lag, don't worry: I don't post something without the intention on finishing it. :-) Thanks for sticking with me. _

_A note: Though Finchely is a real place in London, I've taken liberties with it._

_I recently re-read _The Last Battle; _it seems I did unwittingly take a few liberties with the train crash scene. It isn't ever mentioned for certain whether Susan was at the train station at all, or whether she was with her parents on the train to Bristol, or whether she had stayed at home. However, the changes I made were fitting to this story, and I hope Lewis wouldn't mind too much. ;-)_

_-rosa_

Chapter Four: A Quiet Word

**Thursday**

The next morning, Nick woke up to something pressing into his back. He rolled over on the bed, groaning, and fumbled for the offending object to throw it, but stopped short. It was _Hamlet._ He'd read the entire play before falling asleep, trying to distract his whirling mind.

He remembered his conversation with Susan about Ophelia. _A Queen? _he had asked. _She might have been, _she had answered. _She was in love with a prince. But she dies before she can be queen. Some say that a broken heart led her to take her own life._

Those were general statements about Ophelia, but their connection to Susan unnerved him. Had she been in love with him?

Had she ever thought about taking her own life?

If he admitted it, he knew the answer to that question, and it made his blood run cold. He wasn't sure if he would have had the strength to keep going as she had. In Narnia, it was different. Even when his wife was struck down by the serpent and his son had vanished, he still had his kingdom to live for and always clung to the hope that his son would return. What did Susan have?

This sobering thought made clear his mission, and the more he thought about it, the more Nick was certain that this was his task and no other's. He had to help her reach the memories she'd buried because he was the reason she had buried them. He wanted to feel guilty for causing her so much pain and he wanted to feel flattered or encouraged that he had had that big of an effect on her, but he suppressed both urges. The past was the past and Aslan didn't make mistakes, so there was no use in dwelling on it.

He rolled over, glancing at the clock on the end table. His eyes widened. Had he really slept past the eleventh hour? In his days as King, he had never slept past six! Spurred, he rolled off the bed, and dashed to the washroom. In his rush to get ready, he took just a moment to be amazed at the shower. But only a moment. He washed quickly and dressed himself in black trousers and a crimson shirt from the drawers full of clothes, which, quite curiously, all fit perfectly. He snagged the key to the house and dropped in his pocket after locking the door behind him. His hair was still wet, but he didn't think on it.

The bright blue of the sky and the subtle warmth of the sun through the last of winter's chill brought a smile to his lips. It was the first morning he'd seen in this world that hadn't been gray. Nick wondered if he'd be able to persuade Susan to show him around town today; she was quite pale, and he remembered a time when her cheeks had been tan and streaked with dirt.

As he walked, Nick considered his plan of action. Aslan had said _patience,_ and it was obvious that he would have to be so. He couldn't ask her about her family right away—she would have to tell him about the accident in her own time, once she trusted him. And he would have to slowly show or help her remember details from Narnia slowly, one at a time. And he decided that he would not ever tell her that he was Caspian. Instead, as she remembered and believed, he was certain she would recognize him.

Nick knocked on the door of her home, squinting at the name on the door for a moment. It seemed familiar, but before he could think of how, the door was pulled open. A stout, elderly woman smiled widely, putting a finger to her lips for silence. He liked her immediately. Music drifted to his ears from inside the house.

"Come on in, now," she whispered. "You must be Nicholas. I'm Miss Dawn. Is your hair still drenched from yesterday?"

Nick opened his mouth, then shut it again when he realized she was teasing. He grinned, and thought to tease her back, but then a tune in the music caught his attention.

He didn't recognize the instrument, but the wild, gently discordant notes could not be mistaken. It was a Narnian song, one that he'd often heard fauns play on their flutes, a quick, fluttering tune that wasn't preciously cheery or sad but mysterious, secretive, and very lovely.

"Is that Susan playing?" he asked, willing his voice not to crack. "What is the song?"

"Something she heard sometime, I suppose. She has the ear. But when she starts playing like this, it's best to let her be until she finishes. She concentrates so much that there's no way of going in and not surprising her, and she hates to be startled."

Nick could understand why. He wasn't particularly fond of it either, old instincts and all. He settled deeper into the faded green sofa, preparing to wait out Susan's playing when the music stopped. He found he missed it.

The silence that the music left was quickly replaced by the sound of paws scratching and galloping, and quite suddenly, there was a German shepherd half in his lap, sniffing and doing his best to paint Nick's face with his flat tongue.

"Spark, isn't it?" Nicholas laughed. "I guess you remember me?" The dog's demeanor was vastly different—when he'd seen the dog with Susan, it had barely cast a glance at him, only to discern if he was a threat. The animal was utterly focused on guiding Susan. And now it wasn't wearing it's harness.

"Spark tends to be a bit wild when he's off duty," came a quiet voice from the doorway. Nick turned to see Susan standing there in a dull gray dress, wearing her dark glasses. Her fingertips traced the wall as she walked into the room, and Nick's eyes followed her every step.

"Spark!" she chastised, good-naturedly. "Down!"

Almost instantly, the dog was sitting calmly at Nick's feet. Nick leaned over and continued to pet the animal, scratching behind his ears. The dog moaned in content.

"Hello again, Nicholas," she said. She looked in his direction, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with regret—her eyes were striking, and when their gazes had met in Narnia, he could barely remember to breathe. Now, she could not make eye contact, and her eyes were hidden behind the dark glasses. But he swallowed these feelings, and answered.

"Good afternoon, Susan. That song you played just now was beautiful."

Susan's hand left the wall, and quickly felt for the easy chair in front of the sofa. Her fingers traced its outline before she sat down. Again, she turned in his direction before speaking. "Thank you. I can't quite recall where I heard it, but it put Spark right to sleep."

"Nicholas dear, have you had lunch today? I was going to make sandwiches for Susie and me, and you're welcome to whatever we have."

Nick was torn. He thought Miss Dawn and her home charming and inviting, but the sunlight and fleeting warmth of approaching spring beckoned from out the window. "Actually," he said, "I had hoped to persuade Susan to take a walk about the town with me and show me a local restaurant."

At this, Miss Dawn looked vastly pleased. "Oh, Susan, that's a splendid idea. It's a lovely day out, and you young ones best take advantage of it!"

Susan frowned. "Are you sure you won't need me around the house? You did say there was plenty to do to get ready for your nephew's arrival."

"Nothing an old girl like me can't manage. Now then, harness your pup and get on with it!"

Nick couldn't help grinning as the smallest smile played on Susan's full lips. "Very well," she said. "Spark, here!"

The dog nearly leaped over to her, and Dawn handed Susan the harness. Nick watched, fascinated, as Susan ran her fingers over the harness to check its orientation, slid it onto the dog, and carefully checked each connection with the tip of her fingers, tightening some and loosening others. As the harness went on, Spark was very still and when she stood, he was alert.

"Let's go, then!" Susan said, and Nick scrambled back to his feet to open the door for her.

"After you," he said, so she would know where he was. But she didn't seem to need the clue, as she walked easily through the door and down the steps, following Spark. Nick waved farewell to Miss Dawn, and met Susan at the end of the walk.

"I hope I'm not inconveniencing you," he said.

"Not at all," she returned, a soft, bitter smile on her face. "I have little to do most days, and no other company but Miss Dawn and Spark. I welcome the distraction."

His heart broke for her, yet again, but he said, "I am glad to oblige. Where will you lead me then?"

She smiled, turning her face towards his voice. "Will it just be one stop on the tour today? Lunch?"

Nick thought on it. "Perhaps two if time allows, but I'm perfectly happy with one stop per day. There is no rush."

He thought he saw her blush, and hoped she caught his meaning. She only bit her lip and said to Spark, "Left," and they set out.

While Nick was comfortable with the silence, enjoying the scenery and his company, Susan was much less calm. She was trying to make herself concentrate on counting her steps but her thoughts kept straying from the careful map in her mind's eye. They would veer from the imagined path or the current number of steps to the smile she heard in Nick's voice or the sense that he was walking very close without touching her.

She tried to force her mind back to the counting, to the cool numbers and straight lines on the map she imagined. Luckily enough for Susan, the cafe was close, only three blocks away in a straight line, with only one crossing.

"Have you lived here in Finchley your whole life?"

The question was an easy one, but she hesitated. Her family had lived in the same house in Finchley for as long as they had lived, taking visits to the country and to greater London on occasion, but she'd had never lived away from Finchley. However, she sometimes felt she had spent years upon years in another place that she couldn't quite remember. Wishful thinking, Susan decided, for Finchley was boring, and after the accident, was not a home at all. But Nick didn't know of her tragic past, and this outing was not the time to share it, should she ever.

"I was born and raised here." She wondered if that answered the question at all, if he noticed her pause. Forty-one more steps to go.

"It's a lovely town. I am more from—how did you call it?-- the country? I love to be outdoors in nature, particularly the sea."

"So you never grew tired of the ocean, even after being on your father's ship for so long?"

Nick was startled at the serious tone of her question. And her pace had slowed.

"There were times, I suppose, when I wanted to be off the ship. Being any place too long can get tiresome. But I never got tired of the sea; it reminds me of my Father and I miss Him when I'm away."

Susan bit her lip; he couldn't know how his remark made her throat close.

Except Nick did know and regretted as soon as he said it, and resisted the urge to comfort her as she fought to maintain her composure. Even now, in this life, she had the instincts of a royal, never to show too much emotion. It was so easy for him to see.

Susan was in control of herself once they reached a cafe, with quaint wrought iron tables sitting outside under an intricate awning. The chairs were also intricately curved wrought iron, but with plush cushions tied to the seat and backs. Before they had reached the place, a young hostess put her hand at her forehead to shield her eyes, squinted, then smiled warmly. "Miss Pevensie!" she called, as they approached. "Your usual table?"

Nick raised his eyebrows, following Susan and Spark to the table where the hostess had already set out a menu. Spark sat at the side of her chair.

"Thanks, Annie," Susan said. A waitress came out, and Susan ordered tea and Nick decided on the same. The waitress also knew Susan's name. When she returned with a teapot and two cups, she also carefully carried a bowl of water for Spark and set it at his feet. When she left, Nick briefly panicked, wondering what he was supposed to do with the one menu without blundering, but she saved him.

"I recommend the turkey on baguette and if you care for desserts, the biscuits here are delicious."

"All right," he agreed, setting the menu back down. He poured Susan tea, and she thanked him.

"Everyone seems to know you, Susan," he observed.

Her smile was a wry one. "I'm not very forgettable, I guess," she said, not bitterly. He wanted to tell her she had absolutely no idea. She continued, saying, "I'm a bit of a local celebrity."

"Just because you're..." he trailed off hesitantly.

"Blind?" she supplied gently. "No, but that's part of it, I'm sure. But the whole of that story is not a happy one, and today we will share in happy stories, like you said."

"Right," he said, not pushing her. "Then tell me why you like this cafe. You chose this one to show me out of all the others. Why?"

Susan thought about that. The truth was that she hadn't been to the cafe since the train accident over a year ago, and today, she had wanted to go. Her mother used take her and Lucy there on girls' outings before they shopped for new clothes. And though being here was certainly sad, she found herself smiling.

"My mother and my sister and I used to come here together. Once, the three of us came here after buying Lucy a new dress for church. She put the shopping bag by her chair; later, she accidentally knocked over her teacup and the tea dripped right off the table onto the new dress. She was so upset that Mum couldn't be mad. But Mum was a genius with stains, and she had it good as new when we got home."

Susan regretted using the past tense, as that invited questions, but Nick didn't pry. Instead, he said, "Well, it's charming."

The waitress took their orders, and both Nick and Susan ordered Susan's recommendation. When he saw her tip back her teacup for the last of the tea (which he saw that she took without milk or honey), he offered to pour her another. She thanked him, holding out her cup. Not trusting himself not to be clumsy and scald her, he gently took the cup from her, poured the tea, and gently led her fingers back around the cup. She didn't seem to mind. He caught a glimpse of her fingers before she took the cup, and an idea struck him.

"Will you indulge me an odd question?" he asked.

Puzzled, she nodded. "Go ahead."

"Your fingers... where did you get those callouses?" He knew perfectly well how she had, but he wanted her to talk about it.

Susan sipped the tea delicately, then ran the fingers of her left hand over the callouses on her right. She seemed almost bewildered by them, answering distantly. "Before I lost my sight, I used to practice archery. I shot for my school team for two years."

He watched her fingers absently playing with the cloth napkin on the table in front of her. "Only two years?" he asked. "It would take many years of shooting for your hands to callous like that."

Though the glasses, he could see her eyes close in thought. "Perhaps it was longer than that. Sometimes I feel like I knew archery forever. I was quite good." She kept most of the regret from clouding this sentence.

Nick remembered a time when she had shown him up in front of a legion of practicing Narnians in the fields before the battle of Beruna. He hadn't minded; every legend spoke both of the Queen's expertise and her reluctance to shoot a living creature. Trumpkin could attest to both of these facts. However, in her second visit to Narnia, Susan had been courageous and fierce in battle, eager to prove herself, he guessed, after the years she spent staying behind at Cair Paravel during war times.

"Can you imagine a time when bows and swords were weapons of war, instead of explosives and guns?" The book on modern technology had been a help here.

"Certainly," she answered, and her assurance surprised him. "Sometimes I dream of battles like these. Too many fairy tales as a child, I suppose. But I think that those times must have been more noble."

"I'm sure you're right," he agreed.

Lunch was brought out, and they ate in relative silence, both engrossed in their thoughts. Spark, fairly accustomed to this routine, was lying down beside Susan's chair, but not sleeping. Soon, they started talking, about the weather, about Finchley, about Nick's life at sea (here, he could be entirely truthful simply by leaving out names and places). After the baguettes were long gone, the biscuits followed, and another teapot was brought out and emptied. Finally, Nick noticed that they were the only ones left sitting outside and only an elderly couple remained inside. He reached into his pocket for money, but found he was reluctant for the afternoon to end.

"Susan, I think we should leave so the staff can have a break."

Her face fell."Oh, are we the only ones left?"

"Almost. But it's still lovely outside. Would you like to take a walk?"

She stood, and Spark stirred at her feet. He laid money on the table, but she still began to rifle through her pockets. He frowned. "Allow me, please. It's the least I can do for your kindness to me."

Susan turned her face towards his, as if searching for it. She smiled, letting her left hand rest in her coat pocket and the other adjust around Spark's harness.

"Okay," she said. She began walking back to the street, tracing the edges of chairs and tables to orient herself. They stood at the sidewalk, and she asked, "Would like to see another place?"

He smiled. The place mattered very little, so long as she was with him. "I will follow you wherever you go," he said. She smiled.

"Right, Spark," she said.

As they walked, Susan mentioned some of the places they were passing. They walked by a children's clothing store, and without turning her head, Susan said, "This is the place where my mother and Lucy and I bought Lucy that new dress; Mrs. James was good friend's with my mother."

So it went as they continued on, passing shops or houses or restaurants, and Susan naming them and telling a brief anecdote about some, just as a tour guide should. His amazement was finally too much to contain.

"I can't believe how well you know this place."

She smiled as they stopped at a crosswalk. "I wasn't always blind, but I have always lived here. It was just a matter of remembering and counting."

"Counting?"

"Counting steps. For places I go to often, I know how many steps it takes to get there. There is comfort in it. The numbers are clear and the cityscape is mostly permanent. The numbers give me certainty when I wouldn't otherwise have it."

Nick thought on his own life, and found an analogy he thought fairly fitting.

"It sounds much like sailing. Even if you have no compass and no map, there are the stars, and their position never changes."

She turned an appreciative gaze on him. "It is very much like that. As long as you have a point of reference, a star, you know where you are and which way you must go. That's all I need as well. If I start from home, I have a point of reference. If I ever feel disoriented, I listen to the sounds of where I am, or I reach for the wall to anchor myself." She smiled. "It's a very good analogy." She had liked those in school.

_Being Blind is to Sailing a Ship as Sounds are to Stars._

"And now where are we?"

She laughed. "Testing me?"

"Certainly not." He sounded horrified. "An honest question."

She stopped; her ears told her they had arrived where she had wished them to. She heard birds, less of autos, people talking, running footsteps and the sound of wind in trees. She could feel Spark's steps quicken in excitement.

"This is Finchley Park." Susan wanted to tell him about how many times she, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy had come here to play, to study, to picnic. She wanted him to imagine Lucy climbing trees and picking flowers, to imagine a young Edmund trying to catch bugs and an older Edmund wielding a tree branch in a fierce fencing battle with Peter. She wanted him to see her sprawled out in the grass reading a book or braiding Lucy's hair, or teaching Edmund to play chess, or racing Peter to the top of the tree. But she found she couldn't speak at all.

"This is a special place to you," he said quietly. Before she realized, Nick had led her to a bench, and they were sitting. She leaned over to remove Spark's harness, taking him off duty. She didn't know where he would go, whether he would sleep or run or romp, but when she called him back, he came. She leaned back in the bench.

"There are many happy stories in this park," she admitted, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her. "Stories from my childhood. We used to come here, and imagine we were in another world."

"Tell me about it," he said. She turned towards his voice.

"About what?"

"About the other world."

She was utterly baffled. "The world we imagined?"

"Yes. Happy stories, remember?"

And Susan was overwhelmed for a moment; had those games they'd played in the park, with tree branch swords and imaginary bows and arrows, and mystical companions that they dreamed up been happy stories? She'd always been trying to forget it, forget that they'd imagined that other place. But they wouldn't have clung to the imagined world for so long if they were bad memories, and Lucy had spoke of it until her last days. And Lucy hated to be dreary.

"We were just kids trying to escape a boring reality," Susan reasoned, but she felt her heartbeat quicken as she spoke. "We used to imagine centaurs and fauns, dwarfs and dryads, trees that sang and walked, and animals that spoke. But I suppose most children imagine talking animals. The four us, my brothers and sister and I, shared it this world in our minds."

Nick's heart, too, was pounding against his ribs. "What if there was another world?"

She was trying so hard to flee from the urgency of it all, and laughed, forced. "I don't now if it would be anything like the one we had. But there is no sense in living in fantasy."

Nick bit his lip. "Perhaps not. But it must have been fun, just the same." He'd been watching Spark. The dog had regarded Nick carefully before trotting away to take care of his business at a nearby tree and then to sniff a roundabout path that began with chasing a squirrel and culminated in returning to nap at Susan's feet.

Susan, to his surprise and to her own, smiled. "Yes, I think it was. After all, in our imaginary world, we were almost supreme."

Nick thought of Aslan and knew in his heart that hearing Susan say the word "almost" was the greatest hope for her that he'd seen yet. And though their talk turned away from her childhood to the children playing in the park and other happy, light topics, Nick didn't stop smiling until sleep claimed him for the night.

-----

_Don't get too comfortable... I think I have some surprises for you yet._

rosa


	6. Louder and Louder

**'Til They're Before Your Eyes**

_Thanks again for all the feedback, everyone! This chapter was difficult to write, as it is about transition. Things pick up next time around. Just remember: patience is a virtue. ;-)_

_rosa_

Chapter 5: Louder and Louder

**Saturday**

In her dreams, Susan could see. _And she is walking through an emerald wood, letting her fingers trace the tree trunks on each side of her. Her hungry eyes are taking in the flowers, which seem brighter than any flower ever was, the way the leaves of enthralling trees are swaying in a breeze she cannot hear. She sees her long skirt, crimson red, dancing in the wind like a proud flag but she can't hear the fabric flapping, though she feels it against her legs. She lifts her eyes, seeing startling blue through holes in the thick canopy; she sees an eagle._

_Her feet are taking her somewhere, and she can't stop touching the trees, the blooms, anything she could reach. She feels rough bark, delicate petals. She is walking along a creek now, but she cannot hear water flowing. But she sees it, lets her fingers drop into the water, feels the gasp of surprise in her chest but she does not hear a sound. She is afraid to blink, but she cannot stop walking, slowly uphill, following the creek through the silent dancing trees. _

_Ahead, she sees an opening, and the trees seem to spread apart as she steps closer and closer. The slope gets steeper, and glaring sunlight blocks her view of the figure at the top of the hill between the trees. At first, the outline seems to be a man; as she gets closer, the figure seems to become larger and larger, and she is running, her footfalls making no sound as they collided with the earth, her breath burning her throat, but she heard nothing. She came closer, and closer, and closer, until she came under the shade of a great tree and saw a Lion_ and then the terror that filled her was so strong that her frantic breaths woke her from sleep and all was dark again.

Susan shut her eyes instinctively as she tried to calm her racing heart, forcing herself to slow her breaths before she tumbled into a full-blown panic attack. When she had calmed, she found she was covered in sweat, down to her sheets. Sighing, she stood, felt around the outline of the bed to pull the sheets off to be washed. The sheets for the guest room had been washed already the day before since Miss Dawn's nephew was coming for a visit, so the washer should be clear.

Susan paused a moment, realizing that she may have woken in the middle of the night. She let her fingers trail along the wall, feeling for the window, and pushed it open a bit. She felt warmth and heard birds singing. It was morning. She shut the window again, and decided to take a shower before she did anything else. Her night dress was damp with sweat, and she hated it. After she showered and dressed, she carried her sheets downstairs, being very cautions on the stairs as she had her hands full. She heard Miss Dawn humming in the kitchen and could smell cinnamon. As soon as the sheets were being washed, she joined Miss Dawn in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Miss Dawn," she greeted, sitting at the table. She could hear Spark barking outside.

"Morning, Susie. How are you today?"

"Just fine."

"Why did you bring your sheets down? I just washed them a few days ago?"

Susan's dream had already faded from her memory, but she remembered the overwhelming fear. "Bad dream," she said. "Woke up sweating."

"Oh, my dear..." Susie said, trailing off. Susan jumped when old woman's arms came around her in a sudden hug. "Do you still dream of that day?"

Dawn meant the day of the train wreck. And while she was wrong in this instance, it didn't change Susan's answer. "All the time," she whispered, returning Dawn's embrace. Heaviness hung in the air when Dawn returned to her cooking, and Susan desperately said, "When is your nephew due to arrive?"

"His train should come in before dinner. He knows where to find the place, so you and I won't bother going to meet him, but we'll have dinner ready. Nicholas can join us as well; poor chap doesn't have a single friend in this city but you."

Susan opened her mouth then shut it again. It was true. Nick had only mentioned his father, and his father was away. She hadn't thought about it; he always seemed happy. "I'm sure he will be by today, Miss Dawn. I only took him to Joanie's Cafe and the park yesterday and that's hardly the whole of Finchley."

She heard running water and dishes clanging together, and felt a little guilty for pouring orange juice, which she knew by the shape of the carton, into a new glass. "Well, if the two of you plan to spend several hours at each location, this tour will take some time, dear. Or is that the object of it all?"

Susan choked on her juice. When she could breathe again, she protested. "Dawn!" She could hear the old woman's skirt swishing as her short, heavy steps crossed the room.

"Oh, don't bother, Susie, I saw my fair share of excuses when Milton and I were young. As much as he probably does want to see the city, I'm quite certain he's much more interested in the company."

Susan snorted the assumption away, but tucked it away for later. "I can wash dishes well enough, Dawn. What else do you need me to do to prepare?"

Dawn huffed, and the sound of the faucet pouring squeaked silent. Plates began to clank together one by one as she put them away in the cupboard. "My nephew, too, has been asking question after question about you since he began to plan his visit."

That was curious. She'd never met the man. "Really?" The more she thought about it, the more she was sure the questions were simply morbid curiosity. The orphaned woman, made a child again by blindness. She started to scowl.

"Don't go taking offense, Susie. Not everyone thinks that way."

"I don't like most questions," she said sullenly. Nick never asked any of the those. "But because he's your nephew, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt."

"How gracious of you," Dawn commended, amused. "Norman is a scientist, Susie. His curiosity is a bit different that most people's."

Susan's own curiosity perked. Science had been her favorite subject in school. This she remembered, despite the fact that it seemed decades since she'd been there. "What sort of scientist?"

"Physics, I believe. But nothing like... not what you think." Susan guessed that Dawn didn't want to voice the word "nuclear" so soon after the end of the war. "More like earthquakes and volcanoes. He works for the university."

"In geophysics," Susan supplied eagerly. "I never did like physics as much as other sciences."

"I'm sure the two of you will still have plenty to talk about," Dawn went on. "He's not that much older than you, just turned thirty-two."

Susan cocked an eyebrow. She wasn't yet twenty-three; it seemed like ages to her, but of course to Dawn, the distance between them would seem much smaller. She busied herself with clearing the dishes from breakfast and adding them to the pots in the sink. Dawn easily switched places with her as she continued to talk about her nephew; Susan felt along the counter for the cloth Dawn had set down and began to dry the dishes as Dawn carefully handed them to her, recounting stories of her nephew's boyhood until every dish sparkled, until Susan wondered if he was a man and not eternally twelve years old, sullen and clever and michevious.

When Dawn shooed her from the kitchen, Susan could think of little else to do than to switched her sheets to the dryer and feel her way to the piano. She sat with her hands poised over the keys for several moments, eyes closed. She thought about how her mind had wakened when Dawn mentioned science, how she longed to think on soil erosion and mathematical problems and cell division instead of music. She considered how she might once have hurried to the mirror to be sure she was ready to meet a guest, particularly a man.

Her fingers seemed to move on their own, picking up the melody she had remembered yesterday. Remembered from where, she couldn't quite say, but she could hear the song as clearly as she could direct her fingers to play it. Susan thought about Lucy, how she struggled until she could turn out "Three Blind Mice" on the clarinet, and compared that to her ability with the piano. As she played, her tight lips turned slightly upward. It was a cruel irony; Lucy had always been the more artistic and she the more logical, but her sister, despite having a lovely singing voice, struggled with instruments. Susan played fairly before but when her sight was taken along with everything else in that train, sound was all she had, and the music came easily to her acute ears.

Susan considered the song she was playing; for some reason, it fit quite well as a backdrop to memories of her siblings' imagined land. Or to her silent dream. She found herself nearly lost in it.

"Susan?"

Startled, she jerked, banging her knee on the piano, and biting back the hiss of pain, trying to cover her fright by slowly closing the wooden cover over the keys.

"Hi, Nick." She turned her face towards the voice.

"I am sorry," he said, his musical voice soft and deeply apologetic.

"No, no," she said, standing, reaching for the wall. "Don't be. There really is no other way to get my attention unless you plan to wait forever, I guess. How are you?"

She had reached the doorway, and he spoke, taking her hand in his own, briefly, in greeting. This time she didn't start. "Fine," he said. "I have orders from Miss Dawn to take you out of the house until dinner."

Susan frowned, and turned in the hallway, walking towards where she knew the kitchen to be. "Am I in your way, Dawn? I can help." She tried not to be hurt, or angry, but both emotions were tempting.

"No, no, Susie. I'm all but done getting the place ready for Norman," she called. "All that's to be done is to cook our meal. And I need a few extra things from the market that I forgot to have you pick up on Monday, hear? And I thought I might catch a few winks while you fetch them."

Her no nonsense, nearly bossy tone might have fooled Nick, but Susan smiled gratefully. She knew Dawn wanted Susan to feel needed, and so she did. And the old woman probably would take a nap while they were gone.

Susan turned back around. "You've already seen the market," she announced, following his slow footsteps to the front door.

He purposefully let the fabric of her coat brush her arm before holding it out for her. As soon as she felt it, she knew what he was doing, and with quick reactions on his part, he easily guided the sleeves to her hands, and she adjusted the buttons. She called for Spark, and he watched, again amazed, as she took the harness from the hook on the wall and fit it over the German Shepherd.

"You're right," he said. "But I have no idea how to get there," he finished, sheepishly.

She laughed, and he was startled by the sound. "And yet you wanted to walk me home?"

"Well, I wouldn't have know where you lived even if I was a native," he protested.

"I suppose not." He shut the door behind them.

"You know... that meant a lot to me," she ventured.

A slight pause in his step, but he continued on. "I know."

They walked in relative silence, accompanied by Spark's eager panting the sounds of the city. Susan counted. When they reached the market, Nick read the list to her. "No more potatoes?" he asked, teasing her.

One eyebrow shot up, and her full lips scrunched up in a smirk. "No, we haven't yet finished the ones I got Monday, thank you very much." She was surprised at herself; thinking about nearly being run over by a bike she couldn't see, dropping Spark's harness, and being pushed out of the way by a man she didn't know should be quite uncomfortable. She found she didn't mind the recollection, nor Nick's teasing. Interesting.

"You are joining us for dinner, right?" she asked, as she held a bag for him. He dropped in two bell peppers.

"I'd love that. I'll even help as much as Dawn will let me."

"Hmph. Good luck with that."

"It's just as well; I haven't cooked a thing in my life until recently."

She grinned. "So that's why you keep showing up and wanting to go to cafes or eat with us."

"You caught me. A man needs food, does he not?"

"Mmm hmm."

They finished the errand quickly enough, walking quickly back to Dawn's house for Nick's fear that the overcast sky would give way to rain. Susan didn't think it would rain—it didn't smell like rain quite yet.

When they got to the house, Susan didn't knock but just felt for the doorknob and went right in, followed by Nick. She turned to kneel, reaching for Spark's harness, and felt Nick's slacks brush her arm as he stepped in front of her.

"Hey!" he shouted. "What are you doing?"

Susan froze; Spark growled then barked twice, but she held his harness, holding him back. Images flashed across her mind's eye for a moment, remembering a fight between her brother and someone, remembering a battle, and a centaur's son before she heard an unfamiliar voice reply.

"Easy," it said. The voice was smooth, confident. "I'm Norman Mallory, Dawn's nephew. I was just going to wake her up to let her know I arrived sooner than expected."

Susan didn't move, but she relaxed. She didn't know what was going on, but it was no crisis, as far as she could tell. She gave Spark a few strokes to calm him, then, not knowing what else to do, continued to take off his harness. When it was off, he didn't move from her side. She stood slowly, feeling Nick next to her. Footsteps approached.

"You must be Susan Pevensie," the voice said, trying to erase the awkwardness. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." She jumped when he took her hand before she offered it but shook it nonetheless before quickly letting go. His smooth palm made her aware of her calloused fingers.

"Dawn has told me a lot about you," she said in reply. The couch springs moaned as Dawn stood up.

"And I'm quite ashamed to be caught napping," she said cheerfully, mid-yawn. "Hello, Norman, dear, it's so good to see you. Susie, Nicholas, my nephew Norman."

Nick offered his hand, and found that Norman returned the tighter-than-necessary squeeze. Norman was a short, sturdy man with a Roman nose and black hair, neatly combed.

Dawn, either oblivious to the awkwardness or skillfully trying to dismantle it, rushed to hug her nephew. "You're early, dear. How was your trip?"

"Come on," Nick said quietly. "Let's put the food in the kitchen while they catch up." Susan nodded, and led the way, tracing the wall with her fingers. Spark didn't follow them, but stayed in the living room to watch the guest.

"What was he doing?" she asked quietly, putting food away as Nick handed it to her. She felt the item or shook the box to decide what it was before putting each in its proper place.

"It was the strangest thing," Nick whispered back. "I opened the door, and I saw him. He was leaning over her. I thought he was looking at her hands."

Susan frowned. That was very odd. No wonder Nick had startled. "She has been complaining of arthritis," she offered. "Maybe he was looking at her hands, to see how she was faring."

"Probably. I just overreacted to seeing a stranger in your home." He didn't mention how he had glared the older man down when he had shaken Susan's hand. Susan, who was surely already frightened by Nick's shout, had jumped when the other man took her hand, bumping Nick. Though she recovered quickly, Nick, still on edge, was furious at the inconsiderate gesture. He tried to calm his breathing; the man probably didn't know any better. "I am sorry if I startled you."

"I would have been startled in any case, but better by you. I didn't even know he was there."

Nick's blood ran cold with that realization. What if it had been a thief? But she seemed to guess this question. "Spark would have protected me if he thought I was threatened," she said, sounding sure of it. Though, as much as Nick trusted Spark, even if he wasn't a talking Dog, he was still very glad he had been there.

Dawn hurried them out of the kitchen. Norman had retreated to the guest room to unpack and freshen up, so the two of them sat on the couch together, calming each other with idle talk. Susan finally decided to go in and set the table for Dawn, declaring that she could do that if nothing else, so Nick was alone with Spark when Norman came back downstairs. Nick was petting Spark, and though the dog didn't growl again, Nick felt him tense. Spark still wasn't sure of Norman.

"I feel better," he announced, approaching Nick. Spark sniffed Norman's shoes before sitting down at Nick's feet again. "Nicholas, wasn't it?"

Nick found he would have liked to say _No, actually, it's King Caspian, Tenth of that Name, called the Sea-farer. _But of course he said, "Nicholas Spagian."

"You know Miss Pevensie?"

It should have been a simple question. Of course he knew her. He loved her and had for countless years. But though Susan had loved Caspian, who was Nick Spagian to her? He couldn't make a romantic claim on her at this point, but saying they were friends seemed to belittle what they were, even so soon after meeting her here. Finally, he simply said, "Yes."

Though clearly bemused by the blunt answer, Norman continued smoothly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The man was at least trying to make it so, Nick allowed. So he offered a tight smile. "Likewise."

Dinner was much less uncomfortable with Miss Dawn's cheery presence. Nick found himself wondering again if she was simply oblivious to what had had potential to be quite an ugly scene or so skilled a mistress of conversation that she could mend it. She involved everyone in the conversation even long after the food was gone and seemed especially pleased when Susan asked after Norman's research. He gave a very vague introduction to it but promised "to explain more thoroughly at a later time so as not to bore their hostess."

Susan laughed slightly at this and at Dawn's indignant protest, and Nick gulped down a swell of jealousy.

"Nicholas, dear, you will join us for church tomorrow, won't you?"

He glanced at Susan and was rewarded with a bright smile in his direction. He grinned, turning back to Dawn. "I would love to join you. What time?"

"Meet us here in the morning at 9:30 and we'll all walk over together."

"Thank you."

At this moment, Norman stood. "I think I will turn in for the night. The day of travel has caught up with me." He leaned over to kiss his aunt on the cheek. "Thank you, Dawn. Dinner was great." He glanced at Susan and Nick. "Goodnight, Miss Pevensie. I'll look forward to talking more science with you soon. Till tomorrow, Mr. Spagian."

Susan nodded, and Nick mumbled a goodnight, watching the man's retreating back. Susan shooed Dawn from the room so she could wash the dishes, and Nick offered to help. When she splashed water at him, he was too amazed at her aim to strike back.

When they finished, Nick followed Susan into the living room, and Dawn woke up from her doze enough to invite him to stay for a while. But Nick smiled, and declined.

"Morning will come soon enough, Miss Dawn. I would not want you to tire of me."

She laughed heartily before retiring herself to bed, leaving Susan and Nick alone at the doorstep. Suddenly, Nick did not want to leave Susan.

"She won't tire of you, you know," Susan said quietly, fingering Spark's harness, hanging from its hook, to distract her hands. Nick felt better about leaving when he saw how carefully Spark watched her. "She loves company; that's the main reason she puts up with me."

He was going to protest but saw the amusement in her eyes behind the dark glasses. "That happens to be the same reason I put up with you," he teased. She smiled. "My house is empty and very lonely," he added quietly. She touched his hand before pulling away.

"When will your father return?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I think I will be doing his business in London for quite a while."

Her slow smile warmed him to his toes. "As much as I know you miss him, I am glad to hear it," she said.

"Finchley is quite different from home, but I find I don't mind it," he returned. He was stalling he knew, dragging out the goodbye like a school boy. It wasn't like he wouldn't see her all night in his dreams and again in the morning. "I should be getting home."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?"

_Patience, _Aslan had said. Nick fought for it as he took her hand and kissed it lightly. "Not in this world, Susan," he said. "Sweet dreams." And with all the strength years of battle and sovereignty had honed in him, he opened the door, stepped outside, and walked away.

"Goodnight," he heard her say, before the door clicked shut.

* * *

Susan didn't move from the doorway right way, though she felt Spark brush her legs to follow her up the stairs. Nick reminded her of someone so strongly but she couldn't for the life of her place who it was. Someone from long ago. She made her way slowly to the stairs, turning the corner and walking directly into a distinctly male form. She gasped, startled, and Spark barked once before she reached down to calm him.

"I am so sorry, Miss Pevensie, I didn't hear you coming. I was just getting a glass of water. May I get you one too?"

"No, thank you," she managed, unnerved. "Good night."

She felt for the railing and went up the stairs, and Spark followed. But she never heard the faucet squeak nor the water run, only slow footsteps back up the stairs and the slow moan of a door closing.

X X X


	7. Battle Cry

**'Til They're Before Your Eyes**

_Fun facts for your enjoyment: _

_The name _Susan _means "lily." _

_The name _Nicholas_ means "victory of the people." _

_The name _Norman_ means "man from the north." _

_The name _Dawn _means "sunrise."_

_And not lastly, a few definitions of _Spark: "_a) __an ignited or fiery particle such as is thrown off by burning wood or produced by one hard body striking against another, b) anything that activates or stimulates; inspiration or catalyst, and c) a trace of life or vitality. _

_As appropriate for Lewis, who was one of the greatest Christian minds in the 20th century, this chapter is filled with religious symbolism, and is significantly longer than the others have been. I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading._

_-rosa_

Chapter 6: Battle Cry

**"In that world, I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there." -Aslan, _Voyage of the Dawn Treader_**

_**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**_

**Sunday**

That night, he did not dream of Susan, as he thought he might. He often had throughout his many long years in Narnia. After walking reluctantly back to his home, the truth burning his throat, his lips still tingling, he had tossed and turned in his bed before sleep crept up behind him.

_Instead he dreamed of Narnia's Golden Age, where he was walking the gilded halls of Cair Paravel before Telmarines had destroyed it. Only paintings recounted how the palace had looked then, and his dreams even looked like oil painting in motion. He thought he was alone in the castle; there wasn't a sound, only his steps echoing off the stone walls. He turned a corner; the layout was familiar, since the castle had been restored in his lifetime; in his days, the room he was entering now had been his study in his old age. He pulled open the door, and it was a study, but not his own. _

_A man with broad shoulders softened by an emerald tunic and a shining silver cloak sat at a chess table with his back to the door. Dark hair rolled in grand waves under a silver crown; as Caspian approached, he could see the man's square jaw, lips pursed in concentration, face clean-shaven. The man was bent over the chess table, studying it, chin resting on his folded hands. Caspian might not have recognized him if he hadn't met his eyes. Brown eyes betrayed solemn intelligence and early crow's feet betrayed too many years of battle for so young a man but when he smiled, the characteristic humor belied the grim set of his piercing gaze._

"_King Edmund?"_

_Edmund stood, smile widening, gripping Caspian's hand tightly before pulling him into a one-armed embrace. Caspian glanced down at his own clothes—the same black slacks and gray shirt he had worn that day in England. Edmund's finery made him squirm, but the King's smile made him forget. When Edmund motioned to the seat across the chess table, Caspian sat._

"_This must be a dream," he said, tracing the outline of the golden knight piece in front of him. _

_Edmund sat, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. Caspian would have sworn that the man, despite his silver cape and crown and golden chess set, was smirking._

"_Not Caspian the Swift-Minded, are you? But then again, one can never tell with Aslan between dreams and reality."_

_Aslan. "He sent me to help her remember," Caspian said, tearing his eyes away from Edmund's wise gaze to study the chess board. He was playing white, and Edmund black. He knew the ancient King had been a genius at the game. After a moment, he captured one of Edmund's pawns. _

"_Yes. And He sent me to make sure you don't forget." _

_Caspian looked up, stunned. "Forget what? I know my task; my mind is only on Susan."_

"_Yes, friend. I've no doubt of your focus on her future. But you must not forget the past. Your professor taught you the history of the Golden Age long ago; now I'll refresh your memory. After all," here the king and warrior winked, "I was there."_

_But first, Edmund made a point to retaliate on the board, taking Caspian's bishop in a move the Telmarine hadn't foreseen. And when Caspian looked up again, Edmund's face was no longer amused, but solemn. And sad._

"_I don't know what the history books say about me. But I thought it ironic, even at my young age, that Aslan Himself would call me 'the Just'. No one knows more than Aslan that out of all Narnian history, I'm the one that never got what he deserved."_

_Though no one ever wrote a malicious word about the four Golden Age monarchs—save probably the Calomens about Susan, the barbarian queen—Caspian knew at once which story Edmund was going to tell. He found himself holding his breath._

"_Within my first hours of stepping into this land, I became its greatest traitor."_

_Briefly, the ancient King seemed to notice Caspian's rapt attention. His smile was not bitter. "Heard this story before, have you?" he noticed quietly. "Then you know what happens next. But perhaps the books don't say that my sisters witnessed it."_

_Caspian's eyes widened, but Edmund forged on, every word solemn, shaking. "While Peter and I slept, Susan and Lucy walked with Aslan to His death. When they could go no further, they hid in the bushes and watched Aslan give Himself freely to the White Witch. Then, because Lucy hid her face, my sister Susan was the only human to witness Aslan's death. His death for me."_

_Edmund's deep voice trembled with emotion. Caspian took a few deep breaths to dispel the lump in his throat. When he could speak again, he barely recognized his voice._

"_How could she forget?" he whispered. _

"_We all do sometimes," Edmund said simply. "Especially when angry. And heart-broken. My sister lost you to Aslan's will, then she lost us. She's forgotten Aslan because she feels He forgot her first."_

_Caspian couldn't help the tears that pooled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, even in a dream. Aslan wasn't often around in his days as King, but He was never absent. He couldn't imagine living in a world without Him._

"_She needs Him more than she needs me, more than anything," he said. Edmund nodded._

"_And He is there, in that world with you. You must show Susan the way, my friend. And teach her to love again." Here, the King's eyes turned mischievous, but Caspian didn't miss the undercurrent of steel in his voice. _

"_Just keep in mind that my brother and I are watching, Caspian."_

_Caspian could feel the dream fading; _could hear the sounds of birds and cars_, but he grinned, and said, "Of course." _Now he could hear the shrill ringing of his alarm clock, _but it sounded far away._

"_Caspian!" _

_He turned; King Edmund seemed to be getting further and further from him as the walls of the castle around them faded but the chessboard stayed._

"_The Queen is the most powerful piece in the game!" he shouted. "And you must not assume that there is no danger in that world!"_

_A black piece, the Knight, moved on its own, approaching the Queen, which Caspian had brazenly moved early in the game. He could lose her._

Nick woke up.

XXX

When he left his house, the city seemed to be mostly asleep, but somewhere, church bells chimed. The sky was white, heavy with rain and the air was sticky with reluctant dew. As he walked, he considered.

The idea of religion in this land wasn't so foreign to him. Even organized religion wasn't a strange idea; the Calormens were very systematic in their devotion to Tash. But faith was different in Narnia. He had thumbed through the book called the Bible this morning while he ate, and the stories there reminded him of the stories told about Aslan, about the past, even stories about Susan and her siblings. There was the same historical tone, the same emotional urgency to the stories. And though Narnians did not have weekly services or ceremonies, in all faithful Narnians there was a reverence for the Great Lion, an eagerness to learn about Him, and a desire to model one's life to His design.

For Caspian, like many Narnians, knowing that Aslan lived, and watched, and loved was all that kept him going. Even after Susan reluctantly left his arms to follow Peter into their world, and even when his lovely wife was killed, and even when his precious son had vanished after her, Aslan's presence never waned. For even when Aslan left, He was never gone, and knowing that was faith.

Nick thought on these things as he walked, wondering if church was where Susan found comfort. As he approached their home in the dew-heavy morning, he saw her in her window, and his breath was stolen.

She sat on the window sill; the glass panes had been pushed open. And though Nick knew she couldn't see the fog hanging over the city nor the occasional tuft of blue sky between the graying clouds, but she faced the horizon anyway, her long hair, with its stray curls, danced just slightly in the breeze. He stopped, entranced by her beauty. But then he saw her eyes.

She wasn't wearing the dark glasses; he knew she wore them to hide how her sightless eyes tended to wander, and also to identify her disability. But at the window, when she couldn't know anyone was watching, she had nothing to hide. Her steel eyes were beautifully piercing even a story up, and anyone who didn't know she couldn't see would think she was gazing over the tops of buildings to the sea.

Even when sightless, her eyes betrayed her deepest emotions; he remember how paralyzed he'd been when she'd looked at him so scathingly, so disappointed, after Edmund shattered the image of the Witch, so long ago. Those eyes, so reproachful, stayed in his dreams, along with the eyes that looked up in affectionate relief when he felled her last opponent in the woods.

These eyes were neither of those; these eyes made him want to cry.

It was the lack of emotion in her eyes this time that betrayed her deepest feeling; despondence. She looked utterly lost. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, tell her that he thought about her until the day he died, and that her family was happy. But he couldn't move, couldn't blink, could barely breathe. He feared if he blinked, she would vanish.

"She is lovely, isn't she?"

Nick whirled on the new voice, just barely stopping himself from dropping into a battle stance. Norman stood in the doorway, looking up. Nick followed his eyes, but all he caught was Susan's arm pulling the window closed.

"Yes," he answered, cautiously, sizing the man up. He didn't seem so odd in the morning light. He wore a dark suit with a green tie; Nick thought ties were the most ridiculous things he'd ever seen, but luckily there was a clip-on in his closet.

"I'm just glad she survived," he said sincerely. "It was a miracle."

Susan still hadn't told "Nick" about the accident, though Caspian had seen it replayed before his eyes in the Woods Between the Worlds. But Nick nodded, agreeing.

"I think that we can help each other, Miss Pevensie and I," Norman said quietly, thoughtfully, still gazing at Susan's window. He sounded so sincere, but Nick couldn't help the surge of protectiveness and jealousy. He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Susan and Dawn opening the front door and joining them. Miss Dawn wore a bright blue dress and a white hat. Susan, holding tight to Spark's harness, wore a dark gray dress with a black sweater. Her hair that had hung so freely when she sat at the window had been pulled elegantly back. Now she wore the glasses. Dawn shut the door after Susan, then turned to them, smiling.

"Mornin' gentlemen. I hope you haven't been waiting long for us, but I would point out that it would be wise to get used to waiting on women. When Milton was courtin' me, I always made us late. Now, let's get on!"

Nick wanted to laugh. Dawn had no idea how long he'd been waiting. But he turned to Susan, and all humor evaporated. Her knuckles were white on Spark's harness, and she looked pale. Dawn was talking to Norman about people he might know at the church, so Nick took the opportunity to hang back and walk with her.

"Good morning, Susan," he said first, then put his hand briefly on her back in greeting. She turned to smile half-heartedly in his direction.

"Hi," she responded. After a moment, she asked, "Sleep well?"

_No, thanks to your brother, _he thought. But he said, "I had some crazy dreams."

She leaned in closer to him as they walked, and his heart soared. "Maybe you can tell me about them later. I have plenty I could share with you." The end of that sentence was tinged with bitterness.

"I would love to hear them," he said gently, aware of Norman's questioning glance back at them.

The church was only a few blocks away; when they arrived, Nick noticed the change in Susan's demeanor. Though she had seemed sad when they left her home, as they approached the white building, she tensed noticeably. It didn't take long for Nick to guess at least part of the reason.

When the four of them came through the double doors, passing some smiling faces, they followed Dawn down the center aisle, and as they walked, people from all over the church called out to Susan, or came to greet her, many not taking care to announce their presence before touching her. Every person, old and young, was smiling with welcome and some degree of pity: not a single one wanted to hurt her. But Nick felt himself tense just watching it, knowing how on edge she must be. Even the ones that didn't greet her stared at her and Spark long after they took their seats. Nick wished he had sovereignty in this world so he could order against it.

But even more, he wished that being blind would at least spare Susan of being aware of the stares and the pitying head-shakes. However, when she sat rigid, refusing to rest her back on the pew, he knew she was not so fortunate.

"Susan," he whispered, then touched her hands, folded in her lap. Her posture relaxed just slightly as the music started. When the minister called for them to stand and sing, she pulled a hymnal and offered it to him when he did not know the words. Nick whispered his thanks, and tried to follow along.

"_And He is there, in that world with you," _Edmund had said in his dream. Nick read the words, mouthing along as the people around him began to sing.

_Ye choirs of new Jerusalem,  
Your sweetest notes employ,  
The Paschal victory to hymn  
In strains of holy joy._

_For Judah's Lion bursts His chains,  
Crushing the serpent's head;  
And cries aloud through death's domains  
To wake the imprisoned dead._

_Triumphant in His glory now  
To Him all power is given;  
To Him in one communion bow  
All saints in earth and heaven. _

As he listened, Nick could suddenly hear his professor's voice, whispering stories to him on the tower under the stars. "My dear prince," he had said. "the story doesn't end here. The two Queens sent word of Aslan's death to their brothers and finally tore themselves away from him. But as they began to walk away, a great crack shattered the air, and they turned, to see Aslan back from the dead and standing in the rising sun. And after they dance with him, all three so overjoyed, Aslan took them into the Witch's castle, where his breath restored the Narnians killed when the witch trapped them in stone."

Nick began to understand the message Edmund had been sent to give him.

But though he was nearly enveloped by the music, pouring over each lyric in his heart, he didn't forget Susan, standing next to him. Though the words of each song they sang encouraged Nick, Susan seemed to retreat further into herself with every refrain. When they sat down and the minister stepped forward to speak, Nick dared to reach for her hand. After gently holding her limp fingers for a long moment, his heart soared when her hand tightened just slightly around his own.

"When we speak of God," the minister began, voice carrying over the silence of the gathered, "we sometimes speak of His wrath, judgment, or power. These are elements of His character, but on their own, are not enough to describe Him. During this time of year, with Easter Sunday approaching, we approach the side of God that is shamefully left behind in some messages: that is, God's love. I look around and see faces of those who have spent all their years in this church or another, listening to sermons, but I say to you, this is not a story that can be told too many times. This is not a message that gets old, or worn out, nor is it a story that one can ever know too well."

Nick glanced at Susan. Though her brows were knit tightly together, he wondered if she was hearing these words.

"In the book of John, it is written that 'Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.' And in this way, God himself died for us, sinners who betrayed him, so that we could taste everlasting life."

Though Nick longed to hear more, the rest of the sermon faded into impassioned inflections of the minister's gentle voice because Nick's attention was suddenly arrested by the woman at his side. He could feel her hand trembling now, gripping his own tighter than before, and the way her cheeks were reddening and the way her full lips had vanished into a thin line told him she was practicing the art taught her during her Golden reign: queens never cry. He wanted to pull her closer, comfort her, but she was so absorbed in her grief that he couldn't intrude any more than gripping her hand firmly and letting his thumb run gently trails along the back of her palm.

He realized he'd never seen her cry, not when their raid had failed, not when he and Peter had been tempted by the Witch, not when she was facing a certain death. Not even when she gave him that look of untouchable sadness in the courtyard nor when she turned to leave Narnia forever.

But when the choir stood to sing a last song, Nick watched her fierce fight become a losing battle. He added his other hand to his grip on hers, feeling his own throat close as the words of the slow, haunting melody covered them all.

_When peace like a river attendeth my way,_

_when sorrows like sea-billows roll._

_Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,_

_It is well, it is well with my soul._

_It is well, (it is well)._

_With my soul, (with my soul)._

_It is well, it is well with my soul._

When the final verse came, Nick began to lose his own war with emotions for Susan's sake, his heart aching for her until tears of his began to rise

_And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,_

_the clouds be rolled back as a scroll._

_The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend,_

_Even so, it is well with my soul!_

As the minister prayed, Nick's heart sank as he saw Susan clamp down on the tears she'd finally let fall past her dark glasses. The shudders that had shaken her stopped as she forced herself to breathe slowly, quietly, refusing to let her cries be heard in the near-silence of the church. She even let go of his before he knew it, the service was over, the organ was playing again, and Dawn was urging him out of his seat, and Norman was talking with a couple two pews behind them.

"Come, come, Nicholas," she was whispering, "Come hail a cab for us. It's raining."

Nick found himself standing outside. He waved down the first cab he saw—knowing how to do so came from many hours of observing people in the streets in his many long walks. Being a soldier made one watchful. He turned to see Norman talking with a different couple under the awning, and Miss Dawn waiting, looking off into space.

"Where is Susan?" he asked when he was close enough.

Dawn shook her head. "Let her be, boy. Sundays are difficult for her; she'll be along in a moment."

Nick leaned over so he could see through the doors. His eyes followed the center aisle then to the left, seeing Susan hadn't moved and was still sitting in the now-empty church. As he watched, the minister leaned over to say something to her; she nodded stiffly, but did not get up. The minister continued to gather his things, as if the occurrence was quite normal.

"Perhaps I should go talk to her, Aunt Dawn," Norman suggested.

Nick shot a look at the older man; he seemed concerned enough. However: "No, no. I'll stay and wait on her. In fact, Dawn, why don't you and your nephew take this cab? He's been waiting, and I'll be sure Susan gets safely home."

The small smile the old woman gave was tinged with sorrow. "Tread softly, Nicholas, dear," she said. Then, she hooked her arm through Norman's. "Come, Norm, you can update me on the rest of your family." And they left, leaving Nick standing just out the rain's reach, watching Susan sit motionless in the fourth pew. After nearly ten minutes, he took a deep breath, sent up a prayer to Aslan, then walked down the aisle, being sure his footfalls were audible, then he sat next to her. Before he could think of anything to say, she broke the silence.

"You are too kind to ask," she whispered, "but I know you wonder."

"You owe me no explanation," he said. He wanted to stop her from telling him, to stop her from reliving it when he already knew the story. But he had only watched images in the water, never heard it in her voice.

"I owe you that at the least, Nick," she said, with difficulty. "You've been so kind to me this past week, and..." Here the smallest of smiles decorated her lips— "and you should know what a mess you're getting yourself into."

He let out a small, breathy laugh, almost like he had when she had blamed being "thirteen hundred years older" on the ill-fated nature of their relationship, so long ago. He wondered if she recognized the sound.

"Dawn isn't my aunt—not by blood like she is for Norman. She was a friend of my family for my entire life, and she took me in about a year ago."

"After your accident," he whispered, remembering her conversation with the little girl in the fabric store.

"Yes. A train accident. I was with my brothers—Peter and Edmund. The three of us were retuning along with Professor Kirke and Miss Plummer from the Professor's home in the country. I can only remember that Peter begged me to go, begged me to go with him and talk to the Professor. Whatever errand sent us there seemed so urgent at the time, but now it's seems a fool's errand; I can't even remember what it was.

"We were going to meet up with my sister Lucy, my cousin Eustace and his friend Jill at the train station. My parents were due to arrive at the station from a different train coming from Bristol. But our train took a curve too quickly, and derailed, losing control. Some cars crashed against the walls of the Underground, and others crashed into the oncoming train coming from the other direction. Windows shattered, engines exploded, metal tore. The walls of the Underground collapsed onto both trains and the people waiting on the landing."

Tears rolled down her face now, but her face was a forced impassive.

"I didn't see all of it happen. I was in the washroom when the train lost control. I fell to the floor, and wrapped my arms around bottom of the sink so I wouldn't be thrown against the wall. I heard screaming, heard the awful screeching as the breaks failed and the car started to shake violently. I wanted to call out for my brothers, but I couldn't do anything but hold on.

"Suddenly, I heard the door to the washroom open, thrown so violently that it crashed against the wall. Peter ran in, shouting my name, and then his arms were around me, protecting me, holding on. It was so loud in the train, so full of screeching and crashing and screaming and so many tears, but I heard my brother when he said in my ear, 'Don't let go, Sue.' Then, the train started to flip over, and Peter fell backwards into the darkness of that car, looking in my eyes until I couldn't see him. The top of the train hit the the floor of the underground, and my head hit the top of the sink as I was thrown upwards, and the last thing I ever saw was my brother falling to his death."

Now she had taken off her dark glasses, furiously scrubbing at her useless eyes, so tightly closed. Nick felt tears on his face.

"Peter and Edmund were crushed, along with Professor Kirke and Miss Polly. Lucy, Eustace, and Jill were on the landing when the roof collapsed, and my parents were in the other train, and their car was hit head on. My entire family and our closest friends all died. But because I was in the washroom, where there were no windows to break, no luggage fly through the air, less space to be thrown through—I survived. Rescue workers found me, and sent word across the city that Susan Pevensie, 21, was still alive, and I was some kind of miracle that gave the city hope after such a tragedy. They watch me still, I know. They must hate that I can do nothing with this life that I had second chance at living." Her voice started to shake.

"This man can get up behind that pulpit and preach about love and sacrifice until he's out of breath," she whispered, "but he didn't see his older brother die trying to save his life. They talk to me about the love of God until the sun goes down but then they say amen and go home to their families and eat Sunday lunch around a table surrounded by faces they can see and love."

Nick felt his heart breaking. He could hear what Susan wasn't saying, could hear the bitter anger towards Aslan, the True God. But Nick remembered the sorrow in the Great Lion's eyes when He called her "daughter." He drew a deep, trembling breath.

"It doesn't make sense. I know that." He ventured to lay a hand on her shoulder. "He loves us enough to die, even for just one traitor's life." Nick thought of Edmund. "But trains still crash. People die before we think they should." Here, he remembered his wife, his glittering star. "It hurts too much to see how it could all work together for good."

She was so still, listening to every word. He could feel measured breaths rising under her shoulders. He forged on.

"You have seen sacrifice with your own eyes. Your brother, trying to protect you because you were worth protecting, even to death. You still are. And Peter was not the only one that thought so, Susan."

She turned her face towards him, a longing in her eyes behind the shadow of her dark glasses. He let his other hand cover her own.

"Who, Nick? I have done so little in my life even worth mentioning."

"He who died to save the world would still have died even if there was only one life at stake, even if that life was yours. Not because you did anything worthy but because a Father loves His children."

Susan closed her eyes, and he felt her relax under his hands, saw how she finally leaned into the pew. She looked at peace.

"It reminds me of a dream I must have had," she said, turning her face upward. "A dream. Lucy was there with me, and we were dancing because Someone we loved was alive again."

Nick's heart soared, and he nearly blurted out the entire story to her right then, whether the minister was still lingering in the back of the church or not. But then her eyes darkened again in sorrow. "Oh, Lucy. I miss her so much; she was so young, so full of life. She should have lived instead of me."

"Susan." He now gripped both of her hands in both of his, leaning in a bit closer to her ear. "Your family is happy now, where they are. I know it. But you are still here; and you are not happy."

"If only I were with them," she whispered, "I would be happy."

"One day," Nick promised. "But this world is not done teaching you. You're still alive because there is more for you here. Your life is not an accident. You matter. You are loved."

She was crying again, but not the angry, bitter cries that she had tried so hard to bite down, but gentle, quiet breaths accompanied by soft tears. Nick dropped an arm over her shoulder as she let out the rest of her tears.

"Maybe God hasn't forgotten about me," she said, leaning into him. "Maybe He sent you to tell me this."

Nick smiled widely. "I think so." After one last moment, he finally said, "Well, should we head back? Lunch is probably cooked and nearly cold by now."

She laughed. "You're right. Let's go." They both stood, and Spark, who had sat patiently by Susan's side for this entire time nearly bounced off his haunches. Susan laughed again. "But we better walk, for Spark's sake. And as they passed through the doors, Nick nodded to the minister in farewell, but the gray haired man reached out and took his arm in a strong grip, smiling sagely.

"My son," he said, "you have done what I have been trying to do for over a year. I daresay you are a gift, sent to her by God himself. Stay close to her. She needs you."

"Yes, sir," Nick managed. The man smiled, and locked the door behind them. He looked forward and saw Susan twirling in the churchyard.

"Come on, Nick," she called. "It's not raining anymore!" And he followed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_This sounds like an end, but it is only the beginning. There is still so much more to come.  
_

_Until next time, God bless. -rosa_


	8. Changing

**'Til They're Before Your Eyes**

_In which the author is sheepish... _

_Hi everyone! I apologize for the wait. I'm a full-time student with three part time jobs and, on rare occasion, a social life. I'm grateful to you all for sticking with me! _

_-rosa_

_**Last time...**_

"_**Susan." He now gripped both of her hands in both of his, leaning in a bit closer to her ear. "Your family is happy now, where they are. I know it. But you are still here; and you are not happy."**_

"_**If only I were with them," she whispered, "I would be happy."**_

"_**One day," Nick promised. "But this world is not done teaching you. You're still alive because there is more for you here. Your life is not an accident. You matter. You are loved."**_

_**She was crying again, but not the angry, bitter cries that she had tried so hard to bite down, but gentle, quiet breaths accompanied by soft tears. Nick dropped an arm over her shoulder as she let out the rest of her tears.**_

"_**Maybe God hasn't forgotten about me," she said, leaning into him. "Maybe He sent you to tell me this."**_

_**Nick smiled widely. "I think so."**_

Chapter 7: Changing

**Tuesday**

_She was dreaming; she could see again. She hadn't dreamed of the castle in months, but she found herself strolling empty stone halls, letting her fingers run across the tapestries on the walls, even though she didn't need the wall to orient herself. It was the same... she couldn't hear her footsteps echoing off the walls, nor the sound of her breath. But her feet knew each stone, her eyes knew the swirls of color curling along the sides of the rug. _

_She knew this place; knew each glint of sunlight through stained glass windows. She saw her face in stories in each panel. Her dark hair frozen in motion behind her, her white horse rearing, a horn at her lips. She wished she could recall that moment._

_When she didn't dream of the crash, of Peter's fading voice falling, her subconscious took her here, to these halls. Though no one ever walked these halls with her, she felt safe, even in the silence. _

Creek...

_She whirled; she heard a door opening, but each heavy mahogany door in this castle hallway was shut and still. She could never hear in her dreams; something was wrong. She began to run. She heard footsteps, but these were soft. Slow. Not her own sprinting footfalls, but she didn't see anyone. She kept running, hearing tightly controlled breathing in her ears. There shouldn't be a sound..._

Susan's eyes opened to the familiar dark. She froze, listening, holding her breath.

Silence. She didn't move, barely took a breath, urging her keen hearing to pick up every single sound in the room. Silence. She was alone. She must have heard Dawn creeping to the washroom in the dead of night, and the sounds blended into her dream. That was it, she told herself.

Nonetheless, her heart pounded until exhaustion pulled her into sleep again.

_X X X _

The day was lovely; one of the brightest he'd seen in London so far. Only a handful of wispy clouds marred the nearly white blue of the skies—a blue he'd always associated with Susan's eyes, even long after she vanished through the door in the air with her siblings. Though his heart broke each time he caught a glimpse of her without her dark glasses and saw how her eyes wandered, felt how his own eyes missed the connection of her gaze, the blue was the same.

His wife's eyes had been blue, as well—a dark, sapphire blue, appropriately reminiscent of the night sky, and nowhere near the piercing silvery blue of Susan's. He looked for his wife among the stars of this world, but he knew she was not there. This knowledge wasn't painful—he knew she was at peace in Aslan's Country—but he did miss her presence sometimes. She had been wise, his wife. A soft-spoken, demur lady that Narnia had loved to call Queen; she'd been Susan's opposite in every way, even down to the shade of blue in her eyes.

As he walked, Nick turned his thoughts back towards Susan, just as his late wife might have urged him. Since Sunday he could sense a change beginning in her. Even when they reached Dawn's home for lunch, which was not quite cold yet, he could see it. She was smiling more.

As for himself, Nick had trouble focusing on Susan during last night's meal. He was too distracted by the stare he was receiving from Dawn's nephew. Norman made cheerful contributions to the conversation, often including nearly imperceptible compliments for Susan in each of his remarks. But Nick felt the other man's gaze on his face, and when their eyes met, the former king couldn't decipher the expression in the other man's eyes. It wasn't a threatening one, but for Susan's sake, it was unnerving. If he had to guess at the emotion, he would have guessed envy.

Nick paused on his walk towards the park at a florist; he remembered reading somewhere in the enchanted book of Narnian history on his shelf that the Gentle Queen had loved lilies, whereas her younger, more exuberant and impulsive sister had favored nameless wildflowers. He bought a bouquet for her, and continued on his way. They were to meet at the park today instead of walking there together; Susan insisted that she needed to test his directional knowledge after the week of tutoring she had given him on Finchley's layout. He found himself humming a tune he'd picked up from a faun dance.

He made the final turn toward Finchley Park, but the sight that met him froze him mid-step. Susan was there, making a slow turn around the old fountain with Spark at her side, but walking with her was the puzzling nephew—Norman. Nick's first jealously-driven instinct was to forget trying to be Nick and go full-out King Caspian the Tenth on the unsuspecting man as soon as he could find something that would work as a sword. But he swallowed, took a deep breath, and studied Susan carefully as he approached.

She was smiling; this both relieved and troubled him. Relief came because a smile showed she didn't feel threatened, but then again, a smile could also speak to the idea that she was enjoying Norman's company. From this distance, he couldn't analyze her facial expression, but he could clearly see how Spark, even though Susan had relieved him of the harness to let him romp as he pleased, stuck close to her calves.

Norman's angular features were turned in an easy smile, and though Susan clearly didn't need his help, he would put his hand on the small of her back as they made a turn around a tree. Nick could see her shoulders tense each time.

Clearly Norman had no idea how to behave around a blind person. Nick had to learn quick, but even common sense told him that the last place you would put your hand to lead someone who couldn't see would be their back. That had to be more like pushing, not leading.

"Susan!"

She whirled to his voice and away from Norman's hand. Nick grinned boyishly at this reaction, and reached for her. "I'm here," he said, before reaching out to grab her hand.

"Hi!" she said, face brightening.

Unlike Susan, Norman had the opportunity to appraise Nick, smartly dressed with flowers in hand. He nodded in greeting, giving a small smile. Nick returned it.

"Hello, Mr. Mallory," Nick greeted, highly aware that Susan hadn't let go of his hand.

"Good afternoon," Norman said jovially, reaching out to shake Nick's hand. Nick quickly put the stems of the bouquet under his arm so he could shake the man's hand, not letting go of Susan's.

"And please, Mr. Mallory is too much. Call me Norm."

"Nick, then," he offered in return.

"Certainly." Norman turned to Susan. "Well, Miss Pevensie, I must be going. I hope you will consider the invitation, and in the mean time, I'll leave you in Nick's capable hands. Good day."

Nick watched as Norman gave Susan a social kiss on the top of her hand, seeming to study her fingers for a second before planting the kiss, very lightly. And with a nod to Nick, he set off to the west, towards the city. Nick turned to Susan, his mood already lifted.

"I brought you something," he said, finally releasing her hand. "Hold out your hands."

"Nick, you know how I feel about surprises," she whined, but obliged anyway, holding out her delicate yet calloused hands. He folded her fingers around the stems of the bouquet, and brought it close to her face.

"What do you smell?" he asked, grinning when delight flooded her features.

"Lilies!" She took in a deep sniff, smiling contentedly. He watched as she tapped the inside of her palm around the bouquet and then traced a few petals with her thumb and index fingers. "My favorite. How did you know?"

"Call it a hunch," he said. "What was Norman up to?"

She began to lead them on a lazy turn towards the south end of the park. Spark followed for the first few steps, then ran ahead of them to chase a squirrel. "He heard me tell Aunt Dawn that I was meeting you here and asked to walk with me. He doesn't seem quite so peculiar in the daylight, I suppose. In any case, he asked me to go with him to a benefit at the university on Thursday night."

Jealousy rose like bile in his throat. "Shall you go then?"

Though she couldn't see him, she turned her face towards him, pausing their walk. A slow, understanding smile formed on her lips. "I may," she said gently. "If I'm allowed to bring Spark with me. The truth of it is, I haven't ventured from my house but for groceries since I lost my sight. And as a child, I longed to go to university; it may not be possible for me now, but to visit would be a at least a partial dream come true."

Nick recalled being impressed with the Queen's intellect, so long ago. And in her speech, there was not one mention of Norman, and there was reassurance behind those dark glasses. He tightened his grip on her hand. "If it would make you happy, then you should go. But what shall you do if Spark is not allowed?" She was almost utterly dependent upon the German Shepherd, and he was a fiercely loyal animal. However, the dog was cheerfully romping around ahead of them on the path, pausing only to sniff at a shrub.

"I don't know; I haven't left the house without Spark since I got him."

Nick grinned. "He is not leading you now, Susan."

She paused. Smiled. "I suppose not. But he is here."

"As am I," he said. Her smile widened.

"So you are." They continued their walk down the paths of the park, hand in hand. Though Susan was leading them, Nick noticed how her free hand was slightly outstretched, touching each post that marked the outline of the path or brushing against the trees and shrubs growing on the edge of it, always anchoring herself. He wondered if she would ever allow him to lead her, along some path she didn't have memorized. She was trusting him so much already, and so quickly, but he couldn't push her. _Patience,_ Aslan had said. One wrong move, and Susan would withdraw even further into herself.

She was speaking. "-more and more curious about that."

"About what?" he asked.

"About you."

He glanced at her, for once glad she couldn't see his probing gaze.

"What do you want to know?" he asked. "I'll never lie to you."

It was true; he hadn't lied to her yet; he was simply forced to withhold parts of the truth until she could come to it herself.

"Brave words," she laughed. "I'll remember them. But we'll stick to easy ones for now."

"You're too gracious," he said. He barely stopped himself from adding "your majesty" to the end.

"What's your favorite food?"

His answer was lost in his laugh. He let her interrogation continue as they walked the circumference of the park, happily indulging her in all of her questioning, and returning with his own inquiries about her likes and dislikes.

One of her questions seemed to hit a note by accident. "What do you do when you're not touring Finchley with me or working for your Father?" she asked curiously.

"I read," he answered honestly. "I could do it for hours, get lost between pages."

Her expression clouded. "When I could see, reading was the one thing that could always give me comfort, no matter how badly I felt. I could escape."

Nick squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Susan."

"It's okay; I suppose I could have tried harder to learn braille, but after a lifetime of using your eyes to read, it's hard to switch to your fingers."

Without books, she had not able to escape the crushing grief of losing her entire family.

"Susan, I wouldn't mind reading to you one day," he ventured, thinking of the enchanted book of Narnian history on his shelf.

She stopped their walk, turning to face him even though she couldn't see him. She didn't lift her chin in effort to make eye contact, didn't remove her glasses, but he could sense her attention just the same. She slowly ran her hands up his arms, then back down to his hands until she held both of them. He didn't understand the contact, but it sent pleasant chills into his hair just the same. He forced himself to focus on her face, on the intense expression there.

"Nicholas." She said his borrowed name in a breath. "Why me?"

How badly he wanted to reveal himself at that moment. How he long to kiss her hands and say, "Because I am Caspian, and I have thought of you over one lifetime and part of an eternity, and I've been sent to rescue you from your despair." How he longed to know if she remembered him. The time was not right yet; there so much more to be done.

"Why you?" he echoed. "Why not? When I saw you in the market, you needed help. I was in the right place at the right time. And after I saw you, I knew I wanted to see you again." How true that was.

"But why? You only saw me for a moment, just long enough to pull me to safety and help me with my groceries. I was hardly polite to you, either."

"That's just it," he said smiling. "You were frightened, but you still didn't want or even need my help to find your way home even though you couldn't see. You were strong in that moment. And you're a beautiful woman, Susan. Is it so hard to understand why I would want to know you more?"

She smiled softly, unsure how to respond.

"Besides," Nick said, taking a deep breath, "I feel drawn to you, like we were meant to meet each other." When her expression remained impassive, he added, "Forgive me if that sounds odd."

"No," she whispered. "It doesn't sound odd at all."

And here he could not help himself; he slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him for a moment before she finally pulled away with a blushing smile and led them on again.

Their comfortable silence was interrupted by a sudden tolling of a church bell; Susan had jumped in surprise, her grip suddenly choking his fingers. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and added his free hand to her arm to anchor her. The bell chimed four times.

"Four o'clock?" Susan exclaimed. "I have to get home to help Dawn with dinner. You're welcome to join us, of course."

"I'd like nothing better," he said. He whistled for Spark before Susan could call him. The dog glanced over at them, as if recognizing the different sound, then bounded over. Susan looked surprised. "He must like you," she said.

"I'm glad to hear it," Nick returned, watching Susan harness the large dog with awe that didn't fade. "If both he and Dawn like me, I must be doing well, no?"

She laughed, and he found he never grew tired of the sound.

XXXXX

"Will Norman not join us?" Susan wondered as she set the table. From where he stood rinsing dishes, Nick watched with awe as she trace the arch of the chairs at the table with one hand, balancing three plates in the other. After tracing the chair, she placed a plate on the table in front of it. He frowned slightly at her mention of the nephew; Nick had quite enjoyed Dawn and Susan's company without his odd presence.

"No, he rushed off to the lab at the University; a former mentor of his works there, he said, and had asked for assistance this evening," Dawn supplied. Nick was satisfied with this answer, unhappy enough to be sharing Susan's time with the man at all.

"Susan, will you play for us after dinner?" he wondered. So many of the songs she'd played with her excellent ear were Narnian in origin; he hoped to tap that subconscious knowledge in the near future.

"I'd love to," she replied.

As they ate, Dawn studied the young woman who'd become something of a daughter to her. Though she and Milton had been married for many years, they'd never been able to have a child. Susan had been like her own even before the accident; even then, she'd been a quiet, pensive, overly-analytical girl. But now, she was laughing, smiling, telling stories of her childhood—opening up in ways that Dawn had never been able to coax her to do before the arrival of this young man, Nick Spagian. She still wore her dark glasses, but her eyes were loathe to stop sparkling.

His intentions couldn't be mistaken, but even in his attentions, there was something more than youthful attraction. Something powerful, deep...old.

"Don't you remember, Miss Dawn?"

She snapped back into reality, where Susan was waiting with an expectant smile on her face, and Nick gazed at her, a soft expression on his handsome features.

"Remember what, Suzie?"

"My parents' 25th anniversary party, just before the accident."

Dawn and Nick both seemed to freeze, catching eyes. Time seemed to slow as they evaluated her, took in her inquisitive smile, and looked at one another again with a startled pleasure.

"Yes," Dawn stuttered, floored by Susan's peaceful expression. "Why, yes, I do remember. You and Peter arranged the whole thing, threw that party in the church fellowship hall. I remember Peter and Edmund gave a stirring toast, and Lucy sang a lovely song. You accompanied her on the piano, if I recall correctly."

"You do," she replied. "I wasn't very good then, but Mum and Dad loved it." Behind the glasses, Nick could see that her eyes were distant now, but dry.

Dawn finished off her food with a huff. "Don't listen to her, Nicholas; she was always quite talented at the keys; she just could be bothered to put down her books, join the real world and practice."

He grinned. "I have no trouble imagining that." It was the practical, clever Susan that had stood beside him in the How, taking his side against Peter and Edmund, the same that kept forcing both himself and Peter to get past their boyish conflict and take responsibility. But the Susan that fled to fiction to escape her surroundings was the Susan that he need to wake. And he was close. "Shall you practice for us now?"

When Susan sat down at the piano, Spark settled beside the bench, sitting almost as if at attention. Dawn settled down on the couch on the other side of the small sitting room, but Nick leaned against the wall by the instrument so he could watch her face as she played. She began without announcement, an abrupt beginning that he found fitting to the whole of their interactions. And the song that she played immediately struck a chord in his memory; he closed his eyes and tried desperately to place it, and when he did, he nearly cried. She was playing the same song the blended Narnian and Telmarine band had played in his coronation parade—it was a song filled with bouncing rhythms and crescendos, utter celebration. And so that moment had been; she'd looked stunning atop her horse, her crimson and gold gown cascading in waves down either side of her mount, her smile blinding. It was before she and the High King had taken that fateful walk with Aslan, before her look of resigned heartbreak on the palace steps.

Did she remember how she'd laughed, waving happily to people who'd begun to fall in love with her and her siblings? Did she recall how she'd looked over her shoulder to laugh with Edmund and little Lucy, whose faith had saved them all? Could she feel her elder brother's hand in her own? The coronation was his favorite memory of her: his first and only glimpse of her without the threat of death looming over them.

"Susan," he breathed, but her name was lost among the cheery notes.

When the song was finished, both Dawn and Spark were sleeping.

"Where did you learn that?" Nick asked, willing his voice not to shake.

She lifted her legs, and swiveled to face him. "You know, I'm not sure," she murmured. "I remember my brothers and sister were there; it might have been a party or something. We were all so happy, so proud of him."

Nick's back straightened. "Who?"

"I don't know," she whispered. She put the heel of her hand against her forehead. "Ever since the train accident, I feel like there are so many things I can't remember."

He touched her arm. "It's all right, Susan."

She shrugged off his hand. "No, it's not." She sighed, forcing an apologetic smile to her lips. She reached for his hand. "Come. All this talk of my parents has reminded me of something they gave me when I was a child. I want to show it to you."

As she led him quietly away, one hand hold his and the other tracing the wall, she described it. "When I was a young girl, maybe twelve, my parents gave me a ring. Silver, set with tiny sapphires, engraved with my name. They told me to remember who I am, even when I wanted to change."

Caspian remembered meeting them in Aslan's Country; he'd seen Susan in Mrs. Pevensie's face and in Mr. Pevensie's clear eyes.

She paused at a jewelry box on an end table just inside her bedroom door. Nick waited a few feet away for propriety's sake. She felt slowly around the small box, drawing out a necklace and several bracelets, and a couple pairs of earrings and setting them beside the box. Her brows knit together when her fingers traced the smooth, empty surface of the box. Nick leaned over her to examine the jewels; she hadn't missed it. It wasn't there.

"Do you see it, Nick?"

Her question seemed forced; she didn't like to ask for help, not now, not when he'd known her.

"No, I don't," he answered quietly, seeing her confidence breaking before his eyes. He took her hands, forcing her fingers away from their gentle search through the jewels. "Susan..."

"I lost it," she whispered, the cheerful mood of the evening broken. "Like I lost them all."

"Susan," he said, slightly louder. Firmer. "I'm sure you did not lose it. You know everything's place in this house, do you not? You wouldn't misplace it. Is it valuable?"

Susan latched on to that pragmatic question, shoving her grief to the side. "It's worth a bit, but not enough for anyone to steal. Perhaps Dawn misplaced it." She shook her head. "No, she never moves my things; she understands to leave everything in exactly the same place."

"Then there's another explanation, one that we just don't see tonight." He kept his grip on her hands, trying to appeal to both to her emotions and to her rational nature to keep her from crumbling. "Come. It's late. Walk me to the door."

"It's just a ring," she whispered, both confused at why anyone might take it and clearly meaning the opposite.

"I'll help you find it. We'll think the whole thing over," he promised, guiding her carefully down the stairs. She didn't need his help, but she did not refuse it. He led her by had to the edge of her driveway, into the foggy night. When she shivered slightly, he draped his coat over her shoulders.

"Nothing makes sense," she whispered. He was still holding her hands.

"But some things are certain," he reassured her. "I'll be back in the morning." He had to go, had to read more from the enchanted book, had to pray for guidance, had to flee from the smell of her hair. She returned the grip on his hands.

"Do you have to go now?" Her tone was one that tugged at him.

"What will your neighbors think if I don't leave at this hour?" he teased, trying to keep it light.

She humored him a surprised giggle. "I suppose you're right about that. You'll be back soon then?"

"Don't think on the ring tonight, Susan. We'll find it. Think on that song you played, on the happy memories you shared." He kissed her softly on the cheek. "And yes, I'll always come back for you."

A blush spread through her cheeks. "Brave words," she whispered breathlessly. "I'll remember them."

"I'm counting on it," he said, squeezing her hand before setting on his way. He left her coat on her shoulders, embracing the cold to cool his burning heart.

XXXX

_In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for each of you for reading and reviewing. Thank you for your patience. Stay with me, friends, and take care!_

_-rosa_


	9. This Way

**Till They're Before Your Eyes**

_Greetings again, friends! It's been much too long. I hope you will forgive me._

_However, since I saw _Voyage of the Dawn Treader,_ I recall how much I love this world and these characters, and I want to continue exploring them. I enjoyed the film, and appreciated Caspian's fond reference to Susan. I was also intrigued by the very brief interaction between Caspian and Ramandu's daughter, to whom they gave the name Liliandil. I will try to incorporate some of the things from the movie into the rest of the story. I hope you will continue the journey with me. My gratitude is and always has been yours._

_-rosa_

_**Last time...**_

"_**I'll help you find the ring. We'll think the whole thing over," he promised, guiding her carefully down the stairs. She didn't need his help, but she did not refuse it. He led her by hand to the edge of her driveway, into the foggy night. When she shivered slightly, he draped his coat over her shoulders.**_

"_**Nothing makes sense," she whispered. He was still holding her hands.**_

"_**But some things are certain," he reassured her. "I'll be back in the morning." He had to go, had to read more from the enchanted book, had to pray for guidance, had to flee from the smell of her hair. She returned the grip on his hands.**_

"_**Do you have to go now?" Her tone was one that tugged at him.**_

"_**What will your neighbors think if I don't leave at this hour?" he teased, trying to keep it light. **_

_**She humored him a surprised giggle. "I suppose you're right about that. You'll be back soon then?"**_

"_**Don't think on the ring tonight, Susan. We'll find it. Think on that song you played, on the happy memories you shared." He kissed her softly on the cheek. "And yes, I'll always come back for you."**_

_**A blush spread through her cheeks. "Brave words," she whispered breathlessly. "I'll remember them."**_

"_**I'm counting on it," he said, squeezing her hand before setting on his way. He left her coat on her shoulders, embracing the cold to cool his burning heart.**_

Chapter 8: This Way

**Friday**

Three days had passed since Susan discovered that her ring, given to her by her parents before their death, had vanished. She and Dawn, and Nick when he'd be around, had combed the house for it with no success. Susan, resigned now, accepted that she must have misplaced it and because she could not see, lost it. As much sense as it made that a blind woman might lose something, Dawn knew how meticulous she was, how much she relied on being orderly to anchor and orient herself in the darkness. The old woman swore to Nick that there was no way Susan would misplace anything in the house.

Norman had walked in the following day near the end of their final search. Though sympathetic, he did not aid in the search. Nick, bewildered and angry, could only stare at the older man as he seated himself on the sofa and made himself comfortable. Eventually, Norman turned around from his spot on the couch to address Susan, who was feeling through the drawers of an end table for the third time.

"Miss Pevensie, my aunt has searched your room and the rest of the house. Is it not easier to accept that you might have lost it somewhere outside the house than to turn the house upside down? I think you stress yourself unduly."

Susan was too upset to reply. She simply nodded and excused herself. In her days as queen, she would have never conceded to such a remark without a smart retort, but her year of blindness had made her vulnerable.

Nick had glared the man down, waiting until he heard Susan's door close before he said, "The ring was special to her, Norman. It was a gift from her parents. And misplacing something just makes her feel helpless, despite all her efforts to be independent."

Norman's reaction was more passionate than Nick expected. The older man's green eyes flashed, and if Nick hadn't already formed a dislike for him, he might have been reminded of one of Susan's brothers.

"She must be reminded of her dependence once in a while! If she gets too confident, too comfortable being on her own in this world, someone will take advantage of her or she will be hurt! She is a target! She could be robbed, attacked, killed simply because she could never see it coming! I don't wish to hurt her, and I know that canine of hers is very protective, but it doesn't change much. I don't wish to see her made a victim."

Though his anger was placated, Nick had felt a rush of possessiveness in his chest. This man, who had known Susan no more than a week, was already fond of her. And she had agreed to accompany Norman to a benefit at the university the next Thursday night, out of sheer desire to visit the university and meet professors and students. University was an opportunity simply out of her reach, financially and physically.

Nick had not anticipated having a romantic rival. Foolish, he'd deemed later as he'd read the magic book of Narnian history at his home. Queen Susan was plagued by suitors consistently during her reign, much more so than her younger sister. Wars had been fought in Susan's name. A particularly troublesome Calormen named Rabadash went down as a one of her more violent suitors. Her beauty remained in this world, refined out of teenage prettiness he'd admired in Narnia into a womanly appeal. Why shouldn't she have admirers?

But in this world, war was over. Feelings of apprehension and nervousness remained, Nick sensed, but overall, England was at peace and relieved to be so. He need not worry about protecting Susan from battle as he had when they had been together in Narnia. No, now he was at war with her subconscious, fighting to bring down the walls of bitterness and betrayal she felt towards Aslan, towards her lot in life. Only by getting Susan to stop focusing on herself could he get her to remember Narnia, and thereby, remember him. And the first step, Nick decided, was testing her trust.

XXX

The tunes that Susan had taken to playing on her piano had turned lively, filling the house with notes that seemed to bounce and dance off the walls. Norman paused at a mirror on the wall in the hallway outside the sitting room, checking the neat part in his jet black hair. He smiled at himself, enjoying the background of her cheery music to his reflection. After all, he might take some credit. She'd broken down at church soon after they first met, but ever since then, she had been cheering rapidly. That she was so bothered by the disappearance of the ring was inconvenient and marred the success of his attentions to her so far. That she'd delighted in his invitation to the University was clear, and he congratulated himself on a nearly perfect execution of his plan so far.

Oddly enough, he seemed to have only two obstacles to early Susan's affection and trust. Firstly, the annoying dog. The mutt was fiercely protective of Susan, just as he'd noted, and Spark did not seem to like him. Because her dog was tense, she was tense. Ridiculous, but true. She trusted the damn animal implicitly. And even though the dog was sleeping loudly at her feet now, if he approached the two, Spark would surely wake up and watch him. Eerie.

And most obviously, the strange foreigner Nick Spagian. Susan couldn't appreciate the man's muscular build, olive skin, or strong features, but certainly she was not immune to that musical, sincere voice. Norman could tell they fancied each other. Not good.

These two obstacles would have to be dealt with. Starting today. He straightened his tie, blew a kiss towards the unsuspecting Susan at the piano, and strolled out the door. Today, he needed to be in the lab. Later, he would continue with his plan.

XXX

As she played, Susan let her mind wander. This tune was familiar to her fingers, and she let muscle memory take over. Today, Peter was on her mind. And she found that it didn't hurt as much as it had in the past to think of him. Though she and Lucy had naturally bonded as the only sisters of the family, and she and Edmund had been bonded by their love of books and tendency toward skepticism, she had been closest to Peter.

Looking back, she wondered at it. Peter—outgoing, brave, reckless Peter— should have clashed irrefutably with her own introverted, pensive, and cautious personality as children. Instead, they had latched to each other. When Edmund and Lucy had been too young to join them, Peter had often begged Susan to abandon her picture books to pretend-fence with him in the backyard of their home in Finchley. Sometimes, she acquiesced. Other times, she'd made him practice his ABCs.

She smiled fondly at the memory, putting an extra lightness in her fingers as they trilled happily on to the next movement. Peter would have liked Nick, she thought suddenly. Nick was gentlemanly and intelligent, but he was strong and protective of her. Though Nick didn't have the blatant confidence and outspoken nature her brother had been known for, his quiet strength suited her, appealed to her. And he'd spent many hours of his free time helping her look for her ring.

Susan frowned, remembering how weak she'd allowed herself to be. She hadn't cried since that morning in church, but she had allowed herself to be stung by Norman's dismissive advice to her. Showing weakness left a bitter taste in her mouth, as if she'd been taught never to do so. She couldn't remember her mother advising her of that, but nonetheless, it had stuck. Peter rarely seemed to show it while he had lived, and she hoped she could make him proud.

She let the song flow until its natural end, then stood suddenly from the stool, startling her dog. "Sorry, Spark," she said towards the sound of his collar shaking as the dog, disgruntled, stretched out from his nap.

She followed the sound of Dawn's humming up the stairs to her bedroom. Susan paused, evaluating the sounds and smells. She smelled freshly washed fabrics, heard the slap of bed sheets being flapped out, and decided that Dawn was making the beds with the newly washed linens. She stepped into Dawn's room, knocking on the door as she went.

"Susie, dear! Done playing already? That was a short practice."

Susan took two small steps then reached out, finding the bed post and tracing it to the side opposite of Dawn's voice. She let her hands run over the sheets, smoothing them.

"Yes, I'm expecting Nick to come by again today."

Dawn's movement stopped. Susan stopped also, listening curiously.

"Susie. You don't see how he looks at you."

Susan pursed her eyebrows, mildly annoyed. Of course she didn't. "Don't remind me, Aunt Dawn. I wish I could."

The older woman's voice smiled. "I do, dear. That man is falling in love with you. And my nephew is quite put out by it."

Susan laughed. "Nonsense. I'm a blind spinster; Norman is just being nice. But do you really think that Nick..."

Now Dawn laughed. The sound was scratchy, as if the older woman was out of practice. "One day, Susie, you will see yourself clearly again. And then..."

A knock interrupted her words. She laughed again.

"Well, then. You'll figure it out, dear."

Susan, unsettled by Dawn's words, followed the sound of Spark, cheerfully barking and scratching at the door. She opened the door wide, feeling warm sunlight tease her skin.

"Susan," came that deep, lilting voice. She reached for it, instinctively, and he took her hand in both of his, kissing her cheek as he walked inside. Warmth spread down her neck and shoulders; she found the surprise of his lips was the first surprise she had enjoyed in over a year.

"Are you well this morning?" he asked her, curious about her silence.

"Perfectly," she said softly. She laughed as Spark pushed in between her and Nick, demanding his fair share of attention, which he must have received—the dog's pleased grunts made her smile.

"I am glad to hear it. I was hoping you would take a walk with me. The day is sunny, and that does not seem to happen often here."

"You are right," she agreed. "It is a perfect day for a walk." She reached down, fumbling for Spark's harness on it's hook by the door. A warm hand staid her search and did not let go.

"Susan. Will you walk with me today?"

Pleasure and girlish excitement evaporated as the fear took over. Spark sat at attention against her leg, just as he did whenever she reached for his harness.

"Nick...I haven't left this house without Spark since..."

"I know." His grip tightened around her trembling hands. "I won't let anything happen to you, Susan. Trust me."

She remembered their first meeting, when he pulled her out of the way of a bicycle. She remembered how he stepped in front of her when Norman had surprised them in Dawn's home. And for some reason, though her logical mind knew it was not fact, that she had only known him for a few weeks, she thought that those were not the only times he had come to her defense.

"I do trust you," she whispered.

Nick let go of the breath he held when the indecision vanished from her expression. "Thank you," he said, surprising her again with another kiss on top of her hand. After a moment's deliberation, he knelt down and faced the attentive German Shepherd. He knew that Spark was not a Narnian Wolf, just a loving animal, but he still felt compelled. He put his hand on Spark's head, scratching gently. The dog didn't look away.

"I'll take care of her, boy. Don't worry."

Spark barked, then turned in a circle several times before curling into himself in front of the door. Waiting.

Bewildered, Nick stood. Spark's eyes followed him. Nick took Susan's hand and gently led her from the door, shutting it quietly.

She was still tense and nervous, but the terror had faded.

"Until you feel comfortable, why don't you put your hand here..." he placed her left hand on his right shoulder, "and I will lead you like Spark does?" In this position, Susan was further from the road and could trace his movements as he maneuvered her around obstacles.

"Shall I instruct you as I do him?" she teased nervously, gasping as he took a few steps forward. She followed him, gripping the hollow of his shoulder. She felt him adjust directions to go around the corner that she knew marked the end of the walk, and she copied him.

"I wouldn't mind, Your M-Susan," he corrected himself. She did not seem to notice. "But I thought I might do the leading today, if you're comfortable. Besides, you have every step of this town memorized; it will be no surprise."

"You are right," she agreed. "I will follow you wherever you go."

Nick grinned, recognizing his own words to her when she led him around the outskirts of London for the first time.

"Well, then. Let's be off."

He set out at a slow pace, and Susan let her senses take in every micro-adjustment she felt under her hand, every sound, every scent in the air. She found that Nick, now that she was so close to him, smelled faintly of the ocean, salty and strong. She counted her steps instinctively, responding to his conversation when she needed to, but he rarely spoke. He was hyper-aware of every crack the sidewalk, every turn in their path, every person walking by. The only thing he did not see were the curious, pitying faces of the people they passed.

"It is a beautiful day, truly," he said once, looking over her shoulder at her face. She still wore the sunglasses, but a pretty blush filled her cheeks. Her expression grew puzzled as she felt his shoulder muscles adjust to his turning. After a moment, she must have realized he was looking at her as they paused at a crosswalk. The blush deepened.

"It is," she agreed, then explained, "It is warm and dry. Birds sing, children laugh, war is over." As they began to walk again, she impulsively added, "And you are here."

She felt his shoulders tense up under her fingers, heard his quick intake of breath. When they reached the other side of the street, he stopped, gently took hold of her left hand, and pulled her close to him, ignoring the people brushing past him.

"This day is gloomy when compared to you, Susan."

Before the accident, this was what lived for: attention from men, praising her beauty. She spend her time in front of a mirror, reveling in her graceful eyelashes, full lips, piercing blue eyes, flowing hair. Never had the words of any man been enough to replace the longing she felt for the nameless man in her dreams. And after the accident, she could be bothered no longer for romance, totally entrenched in her grief.

Today, she felt peace rather than agony. Today, she felt cherished, not objectified. Today, she smiled.

"Thank you," she said.

When they did not start moving again, she wondered, "Are we stopping?"

"We arrived," he corrected. "Do you know where you are?"

She imagined their path in her head. Then she giggled.

"We're at the cinemas!"

Nick grinned at the glee in her voice. He took her hand, leading her forward. "Would you like to go in? I could understand if seeing a film would not be something you wanted to do."

She shook her head, delighted. "My imagination is vivid. Let's go."

And she allowed him to lead her by the hand to the box office. Nick had come here to observe a previous day, to see how he was meant to act at such a place. So he was confident when it was his turn, announcing, "Two tickets to _Alice in Wonderland_, please."

Susan giggled again, remembering how she had loved going to the Disney films with her brothers and sister. Nick helped her settle into her seat and draped an arm over her shoulder, reveling in her excitement as the credits began. His heart sprinted when she burrowed into his shoulder.

As the story played out before his eyes, Nick, though fascinated by the technology of the moving pictures, spent more time thinking about how both he and Susan could relate to Alice. Nick—as Caspian—was the perfect male incarnation of Alice, stumbling around in a strange world, but then again, Susan's dark world and the war in her mind between her memories of Narnia and the grief she felt might also constitute a "wonderland" in a way, though perhaps with less wonder.

Sometimes, she would lean over and whisper something like, "What does she look like?" or "Describe it to me," and he would whisper back to her. He found the film's depiction of the Talking Animals to be silly, and the Cheshire Cat down right unnerving, but Susan was enthralled, and that was satisfaction enough. After an hour of nonsense, when Alice wakes up from her dream and realizes that logic and reason are important, he glances down at Susan, sees her soft, knowing smile. When the credits rolled, neither of them moved for a moment.

"She is right, sure, but there is some comfort in the fantastic as well," Susan mused. She cocked her head, listening. "Are we alone?"

"It seems so," he said quietly, every cell in his body aware of her, of the music, of the soft lighting.

She let her head rest on his shoulder for a moment, eyes closing. "Will you take me to the park again today? I do not hear any rain."

Nick agreed and led her carefully through the aisle of seats and out the doors of the cinema. Without prompting, she put her left hand on his shoulder again. They made the short walk in silence. Nick was concentrating on leading her, and Susan was lost in thought. When they reached the park, Nick was leading her toward the fountain in the center, when she suddenly let go of his shoulder.

He turned, alarmed. "Susan?"

She stands, blue skirt waving gently in the breeze, lowering her arm slowly to her side. Her eyes are miles away; her expression is one of wonder. Nick takes hold of her left hand, then lets his other hand find her waist, to pull her close.

"You remind me of someone, Nick. Someone who died."

_So close..._ he thought. He fingered her dark sunglasses, longing to see her eyes. "May I?" he whispered.

She nodded slowly. He pulled the glasses away from her face, then tucked them gently into her hair on top of her head. He pressed a palm to her cheek, watching the blush spread through it. Her beautiful blue eyes were opened wide; sightless, they were fixed blankly off to her right, but still moving rapidly. Her pupils were open, her blue irises glinted int the rare sunlight. How his heart hurt that she couldn't see; it physically pained him. He let his thumb run gently just below her her right eye, and they closed instinctively. Her lips parted, and this time, he initiated.

It was slow, of course. He did not want to shock her. He leaned forward, first touching his forehead to hers, and then, gentle as a feather, let his lips press against hers. Their lips knew each other; hers parted as she breathed, and his responded. He pulled away slowly, with a final kiss on the corner of her left eye, then gently replaced her glasses. He let his hand travel down her arm until he gently took her hand.

"Who was it that I reminded you of?" he asked, so softly that the flap of birds' wings might have brushed it away.

"His name was—"

"Nick! Miss Pevensie!"

A loud bark punctuated the call. Nick turned to scowl at Norman, approaching quickly with Spark in tow, holding his harness in one arm while holding onto a leash in the other hand as the dog loped towards Susan as fast as he could.

Susan turned her head towards the sound of the bark, bewildered. "Norman? You brought Spark?"

Nick did not hide his animosity as the older man approached. He let go of the leash, and Spark took off into a sprint until he was at Susan's side. Susan felt for the leash, checked the connection, then began to calm the animal.

"The poor creature was absolutely desolate without you, Miss Pevensie," Norman said while meeting Nick's hostile gaze evenly. "He was sitting at the door, staring, and I thought you would be more comfortable with him near you."

Here, Susan frowned. "Thank you, but I was fine. Do you have his harness?"

"Yes ma'am." He passed it to her, careful to make sure their hands touched. Susan simply draped the harness over her arm, rather than putting the dog on duty. The dog, however, still sat sarply at attention by her ankles, watching Norman.

"Thank you."

"Well, I have to be going. I have some work to do in my lab, and a new geophysics graduate assistant to train before I can be ready for a day off on the day of the benefit. I am looking forward to your company, Miss Pevensie. Good day."

Caspian suddenly was certain he did not want Susan alone with that man, even in a public place. He would be sure Spark was allowed to go with her, and he would make his own arrangements if necessary.

After a beat of silence, Susan wondered, "Is he gone?"

Nick laughed, surprised. "Quite," he assured her as he relieved her of Spark's harness, draping it over his shoulder. "Thankfully."

"Nick," she chided. "He is being very kind to me." But the way she intertwined her fingers with his own and leaned into him belied her teasing.

"For that, I cannot fault him, for any kindness towards you is kindness to me. I only wish he was not quite so..."

"Persistent?" she supplied.

"Eager. Very eager. Too eager." His grip tightened.

She laughed, the sound music. "Don't worry about him; you have nothing to fear."

Her reassurance was enough to make him forget, and they both continued their path back to her home, unaware of the eyes watching them as they went.

XXXX

_Next time... Nick reveals to Susan that he was married once as Caspian remembers Liliandil... Susan attends the university benefit with Norm...and something else of value vanishes from Susan and Dawn's house. Meanwhile, Caspian's plan to make Susan remember continues to develop..._

_Thanks for staying with me. The journey is long, but we will finish together!_

_-rosa_


End file.
